Presently he caught her puzzled glance, and recollected himself, turning on the charm again. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. 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. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment.
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