He was ruffled, and his ears were red, no doubt from some adjacent controversy. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. Pardon what I have said, Madam. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. Why should you wish to forget it? Unless it is that you did not enjoy it.
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