” “I don’t care how we meet,” she said. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. No other white people within twenty miles. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. Charvill’s fury was burning out. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. ‘Suppose you don’t know what sort of proof she was after?’ he asked. But I won't be cheated of my prize.
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