Can’t face a scandal. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. Last time— you made me feel snubbed. They are horrible. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. They sold him the whisky. I will permit you to rescue me. She could not help but admit that she liked being smiled at and addressed in the hallways by hordes of friendly faces.
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