” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. That is what marriage is to most young women: the ultimate escape from the family, from the unwritten laws that govern children. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage. A fortnight passed, then a month. “Katy Pfister. She is no longer mine; she is yours.
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