CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. I hung around Harvard a little when you were there. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. She saw his eyes glaze over. I shall have no faith in future in bolts and bars. I have been thinking these things over lately, and it seems to me that marriage for a girl is just the supremest thing in life.
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