Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. She did most urgently desire to save her face in Morningside Park, and for long hours she could think of no way of putting it that would not be in the nature of unconditional admission of defeat. Her eyes where glassy and shining. The chair was torture. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. To him she had always appeared as a mere pleasure-loving parasite—something quite insignificant.
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