She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. “I’d chuck this lark right off if I were you, Vee,” he said. Of course. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. " "Tell it.
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