But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered. Oh, Mr Jarvis paid no mind,’ she added hastily, as if expecting disapproval. ‘She won’t. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be.
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