. . Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. Fortescue had not much ability to keep her sister, and a little while after her mother’s death Ann Veronica met Gwen suddenly on the staircase coming from her father’s study, shockingly dingy in dusty mourning and tearful and resentful, and after that Gwen receded from the Morningside Park world, and not even the begging letters and distressful communications that her father and aunt received, but only a vague intimation of dreadfulness, a leakage of incidental comment, flashes of paternal anger at “that blackguard,” came to Ann Veronica’s ears. “Yeah. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes.
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