" "Ah," said Spurlock; "that kind of a man. ” CONTENTS ANN VERONICA CHAPTER THE FIRST CHAPTER THE SECOND CHAPTER THE THIRD CHAPTER THE FOURTH CHAPTER THE FIFTH CHAPTER THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE SEVENTH CHAPTER THE EIGHTH CHAPTER THE NINTH CHAPTER THE TENTH CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER THE TWELFTH CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH ANN VERONICA CHAPTER THE FIRST ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER Part 1 One Wednesday afternoon in late September, Ann Veronica Stanley came down from London in a state of solemn excitement and quite resolved to have things out with her father that very evening. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. He then tried the door of Mr. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. In the subdued light she could not tell whether he was asleep or awake. She pulled the trigger. " Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. She could hardly remember his face except for his brown hair, thick lips, and narrow dark eyes. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. "But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. " "Come, Sir!" thundered the latter, "no trifling! Perhaps," he added, opening a warrant, "you'll obey this mandate?" "A warrant!" ejaculated Kneebone, starting to his feet. " "Make it positive," was the brisk reply.
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