They were both dressed in every respect alike. ” He would say every time she wore it. "The night before last, Mr. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. “Oh, Ann Veronica!” he cried, “I cannot let you go like this! You don’t understand. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. He seemed resigned but cheerful, and held frequent and serious discourses with the ordinary, who felt satisfied of his sincere penitence. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. They would be partners only in loneliness.
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