"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. The discussion wandered, and was punctuated with bread and butter. Voilà tout. Ann Veronica hesitated with a question that had leaped up in her mind, and that she felt was cruel. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. He impetuously grasped a hold of her hand, looking for a callous. If you’ve got anything to say, you must say it to your aunt—” “But look here, daddy!” He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture.
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