Then it was the woman herself who was changed. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. ” Her hands fell to her side. He rose slowly and extended it. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. CHAPTER XXXI.
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