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. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. "My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily.
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