Fate has two methods of procedure—the sudden and the long-drawn-out. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. I mean my cut-offs and boots. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. "Your father—poor imbecile!—believes we ran away together. Just one thing more. Do you think that it makes for happiness to force oneself into the extravagant belief that love is the only thing in the world worth having, and to sacrifice for it independence, self-respect, one’s whole scheme of life.
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