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. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. ’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. “But about last night.
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