“‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. He seemed too noisy. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied with them. ‘That is a very English name. “Amazing. His lips were tight drawn. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name. He had a great contempt for the sections the “theorizers” produced. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced.
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