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She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. Why on earth couldn’t he leave her to grow in her own way? Her pride rose at the bare thought of return. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff. 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. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. “You see, I will take your arm. Manning? I suppose there’s a sort of place like a ticket-office.
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