"So, you young fool, I have found you!" she said, harshly. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. ’ Joan sniffed. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws.
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