“This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone.
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