It could not be she who had done this. ” He seemed bored. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. She looked at her flattened belly. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount. A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing.
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