" The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. Everything had stayed the same during the centuries. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. But Ann Veronica had still to get to her chief topic. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding.
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