I'll teach you submission in time. We may meet—who can tell? But I will not be fettered, even though you would make the chains of roses. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy.
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