moth's wings; they
hovered, rested, flickering, vibrating to the fine tips of
their corners.

Whatever had been the matter with him in India, Captain Cameron had
recovered. His keen, fair, Highland face made Bartie's face look
terrible. Ferdie was charming; not more charming to Bartie's wife than
he was to Frances; not more charming to Frances than to her sisters; so
that even Louie unbent, and Emmeline and Edith fell in love with him. He
flirted with Frances under Anthony's nose; and with the Aunties under
Grannie's nose. The corners of Vera's mouth followed the tilt of her
long eyes' corners as she saw him do it.

You could not think of Vera as the children's Auntie, or as Bartie's
wife, or as Veronica's mother.

Veronica was a very little girl who sang songs and was afraid of
ghosts.

She slept in her mother's room, and so never could be put to bed till
half-past seven, or till her mother was dressed to the last hook of her
gown, the last hairpin, the last touch of powder (adhesive without
bismuth), and the last shadow drawn fine about her eyelashes. When Vera
beautiful in a beautiful gown, came trailing into the room where
everybody waited for her, Veronica hid herself behind Uncle Anthony's
big chair. When her father told her to come out of that and say
good-night and be quick about it, she came slowly (she was not in the
least afraid of Bartie), showing herself bit by bit, honey-coloured
hair, eyebrows dark under her gold, very dark against her white;
sorrowful, transparent, lucid eyes. A little girl with a straight white
face. A little, slender girl in a straight white frock. She stood by
Anthony's chair, spinning out the time, smiling at him with her childish
wavering mouth, a smile that would not spread, that never went higher
than the tip of her white nose, that left her lucid, transparent eyes
still sorrowful.

She knew that Anthony would take her on his knee, and that she could sit
there with her head tucked under his chin, smiling at him, prolonging
her caresses, till Vera told him to put her down and let her go.

Bartie growled: "Did you hear your mother telling you to say
Good-night?"

"Yes. But I must kiss Uncle Anthony first. Properly. Once on his mouth.
Once--on his nose. And once--on--his--eyes. And--once--on--his dear
little--ears."

After that, Veronica went slowly from chair to chair, lingering at each,
sitting first on Frances's lap, then on Vera's, spinning out her
caresses, that spu