She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. Slowly and ruefully she realized why marriage was so idealized among her generations of those before her. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy.
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