She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. Here we go, thought Gerald. “The adventures I do not doubt, Annabel,” she said. ” 243 She felt a mixture of embarrassment, humiliation, and pride well up in her cheeks, flushing them. We aren’t worth it.
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