Your sister! Great God, how like she is to what you were!” Annabel looked around her nervously. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. You see, I’m selfish. The telegram reminded Ann Veronica that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor parlor, which very fortunately was vacant. “Quite on my own,” she said.
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