" "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. ” “I borrowed it,” said Ann Veronica in a casual tone, with white despair in her heart. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. 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. Both carried packages of books and magazines. "Give me the child, or—" As he spoke the door was thrown open, and Mrs. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over.
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