Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. ’ There was a pause. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop.
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