Get a license—just an idea of mine. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet. When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her startled gaze. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice.
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