She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. It was nothing like the big church wedding she wanted, but nothing could shame her greater than to have a child out of wedlock. It could not be she who had done this. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. Once a week, every Saturday, they had a little gathering from nine till the small hours, just talk and perhaps reading aloud and fruitarian refreshments—chestnut sandwiches buttered with nut tose, and so forth—and lemonade and unfermented wine; and to one of these symposia Miss Miniver after a good deal of preliminary solicitude, conducted Ann Veronica.
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