If it were but the question of his reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. For a time she brooded on the ideals and suggestions of the Socialists, on the vague intimations of an Endowment of Motherhood, of a complete relaxation of that intense individual dependence for women which is woven into the existing social order. Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. But a woman’s life is all chance. I want to know—just as much as I can. I'm about to ring for supper.
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