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She was at the end of girlhood and on the eve of a woman’s crowning experience. "I declare you throw me into an ague. He’s a salesman for AT and T, but he’s never made a lot of money. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. ‘I do not know of whom you speak. Only one thing emerged with any reasonable clarity in her mind at once, and that was that unless she was saved from drowning by an unmarried man, in which case the ceremony is unavoidable, or totally destitute of under-clothing, and so driven to get a trousseau, in which hardship a trousseau would certainly be “ripping,” marriage was an experience to be strenuously evaded. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess.
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