Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. They took their places at a distant table. “You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. ” He stroked her hand gently. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame.
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