‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. ” “But I can’t help but notice from your bookshelf that you read all sorts of horror and science fiction. “There are a good many Whites in London.
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