‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. Once I banged on the door so hard I split it in two. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Then he opened the study door and called “Mollie!” and returned to assume an attitude of authority on the hearthrug, before the blue flames and orange glow of the gas fire. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. Deserted by his older companion in iniquity, and instigator to crime, he did not know what might become of him; nor, as we have observed, was the sad spectacle he had just witnessed, without effect. I shouldn't talk like that.
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