His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. Ennison had disappeared.
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