Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. . She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. She was always asking questions about her mother and supplying the answers. And the bedchamber, for which Melusine instantly headed, was almost bright. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult.
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