” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed. “I have hurt my father,” she said; “I have hurt my aunt. It’s your first evening, and early impressions do count for so much. Two of these had been her particular intimates at the High School, and had done much to send her mind exploring beyond the limits of the available literature at home. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. My will is executed, and placed in safe custody. You would find things to laugh at even in Artemus Ward. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree.
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