“She’s all right. “I’m ready,” said Ann Veronica, closing her microscope-box with a click, and looking for one brief instant up the laboratory. It was hard to resist. Even the chattering monkeys, parrots, and parrakeets departed the fruit groves for the smelly dark of the jungle. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences.
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