Later. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. 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. Drink for him had a queer phase. She had made her first fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was how the universe had treated her. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face.
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