She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. Something softened in Melusine’s chest. They did not want her. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths.
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