She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. " "What did I say?" "Only one word," she said, offering her first white lie. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. We live under man-made institutions, and that is what they amount to. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father.
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