“It was the night you left Paris. She wanted to think. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Miss Stanley had determined from the outset to have the warmest affection for her youngest niece and to be a second mother in her life—a second and a better one; but she had found much to battle with, and there was much in herself that Ann Veronica failed to understand. Even on cool days the gardens were colorful and bright, with orange trees emanating sweetness and bumblebees drunkenly weaving from flower to flower. But indeed that is not at all a good description of her attitude.
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