Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. A knot of three policemen in conflict with her staggered toward Ann Veronica’s attendants and distracted their attention. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. I could resist the tempter now, I am strong in health,—in mind. He knew she had been weeping. Here you only waste your time. I get your side all right. You know that, and I know that, though we might be put to it to find a reason why.
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