“Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. He felt the first sting of the whip. The dog approached timidly, his tail going furiously. She had agonized over it for weeks. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. 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. It could not go on much longer, her luck. He would certainly welcome McClintock's advent. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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