The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. There was none. “I am a fool,” he said. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. ‘That is settled then.
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