Ann Veronica | Page 9

think of that?" he asked.
She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. He filled
his pipe slowly.
"Yes," she said at last, "it is firm and affectionate."
"I could have said more."
"You seem to have said just what had to be said. It seems to me exactly

what is wanted. She really must not go to that affair."
She paused, and he waited for her to speak.
"I don't think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life
to which they would draw her," she said. "They would spoil every
chance."
"She has chances?" he said, helping her out.
"She is an extremely attractive girl," she said; and added, "to some
people. Of course, one doesn't like to talk about things until there are
things to talk about."
"All the more reason why she shouldn't get herself talked about."
"That is exactly what I feel."
Mr. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for
a time. "I'd give anything," he remarked, "to see our little Vee happily
and comfortably married."
He gave the note to the parlormaid the next morning in an inadvertent,
casual manner just as he was leaving the house to catch his London
train. When Ann Veronica got it she had at first a wild, fantastic idea
that it contained a tip.
Part 5
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 girls until dinner-time. The
atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. Her aunt was blandly amiable
above a certain tremulous undertow, and talked as if to a caller about
the alarming spread of marigolds that summer at the end of the garden,
a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy annuals, while her father
brought some papers to table and presented himself as preoccupied

with them. "It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds
altogether next year," Aunt Molly repeated three times, "and do away
with marguerites. They seed beyond all reason." Elizabeth, the
parlormaid, kept coming in to hand vegetables whenever there seemed
a chance of Ann Veronica asking for an interview. Directly dinner was
over Mr. Stanley, having pretended to linger to smoke, fled suddenly
up-stairs to petrography, and when Veronica tapped he answered
through the locked door, "Go away, Vee! I'm busy," and made a
lapidary's wheel buzz loudly.
Breakfast, too, was an impossible occasion. He read the Times with an
unusually passionate intentness, and then declared suddenly for the
earlier of the two trains he used.
"I'll come to the station," said Ann Veronica. "I may as well come up
by this train."
"I may have to run," said her father, with an appeal to his watch.
"I'll run, too," she volunteered.
Instead of which they walked sharply. . . .
"I say, daddy," she began, and was suddenly short of breath.
"If it's about that dance project," he said, "it's no good, Veronica. I've
made up my mind."
"You'll make me look a fool before all my friends."
"You shouldn't have made an engagement until you'd consulted your
aunt."
"I thought I was old enough," she gasped, between laughter and crying.
Her father's step quickened to a trot. "I won't have you quarrelling and
crying in the Avenue," he said. "Stop it! . . . If you've got anything to
say, you must say it to your aunt--"

"But look here, daddy!"
He flapped the Times at her with an imperious gesture.
"It's settled. You're not to go. You're NOT to go."
"But it's about other things."
"I don't care. This isn't the place."
"Then may I come to the study to-night--after dinner?"
"I'm--BUSY!"
"It's important. If I can't talk anywhere else--I DO want an
understanding."
Ahead of them walked a gentleman whom it was evident they must at
their present pace very speedily overtake. It was Ramage, the occupant
of the big house at the end of the Avenue. He had recently made Mr.
Stanley's acquaintance in the train and shown him one or two trifling
civilities. He was an outside broker and the proprietor of a financial
newspaper; he had come up very rapidly in the last few years, and Mr.
Stanley admired and detested him in almost equal measure. It was
intolerable to think that he might overhear words and phrases. Mr.
Stanley's pace slackened.
"You've no right to badger me like this, Veronica," he said. "I can't see
what possible benefit can come of discussing things that are settled. If
you want advice, your aunt is the person. However, if you must air your
opinions--"
"To-night, then, daddy!"
He made an