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One Wednesday afternoon in late September, Ann Veronica Stanley came down from London in a state of solemn excitement and quite resolved to have things out with her father that very evening. She had …
Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work…
Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gra…
MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with…
Ann Veronica’s resolve to have things out with her father was not accomplished without difficulty. He was not due from the City until about six, and so she went and played Badminton with the Widgett…
He became quite sure, by a sort of accumulation of reflection, as the day wore on. He found his youngest daughter intrusive in his thoughts all through the morning, and still more so in the afternoon…
At the end of dinner that evening Ann Veronica began: “Father!” Her father looked at her over his glasses and spoke with grave deliberation; “If there is anything you want to say to me,” he said, “y…
“Are you coming to the Fadden Dance, Ann Veronica?” asked Constance Widgett. Ann Veronica considered her answer. “I mean to,” she replied. “You are making your dress?” “Such as it is.” They were …
As Ann Veronica went back along the Avenue to her aunt she became aware of a light-footed pursuer running. Teddy overtook her, a little out of breath, his innocent face flushed, his straw-colored hai…
The call Ann Veronica paid with her aunt that afternoon had at first much the same relation to the Widgett conversation that a plaster statue of Mr. Gladstone would have to a carelessly displayed int…
