” That night was the most intolerable one that Ann Veronica had ever spent. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. ” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse;—but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son,—and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. Wood, who appeared to be collecting her energies for a terrible explosion, "in the hope that they may prove acceptable. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. “Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words.
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