Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. I’d only get a pack of lies in reply. “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. The world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards. Before that came your father didn’t even know you were gone. Whenever you grow impatient with her, remember the folly of her father. Ruth will be a gold mine for a man of your peculiar bent. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love.
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