“Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. Jonathan laughed scornfully. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. ’ ‘But what have I done?’ protested Gerald innocently. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing.
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