“My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. I wonder, Ann Veronica, if, when our time comes, we shall be any wiser?” Ann Veronica watched a water-beetle fussing across the green depths. ’ ‘Who was to know if you would find your place?’ countered Martha. He said that for him beauty justified life, that he could not imagine a good action that was not a beautiful one nor any beautiful thing that could be altogether bad. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. I’m sorry.
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