Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. ’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. ’ ‘You certain? She’s a thought too volatile for my money. 153 The halls emptied with special urgency as teens rushed forth into heated cars and buses to make the mad dash home before the coming storm. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs.
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