The door was then locked, and he was left alone. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. 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. About two weeks ago. ” Her heart had warmed toward him.
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