“I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. 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. A tall, clean-shaven man came out and walked rapidly through the room, exchanging greetings right and left, but evidently anxious to avoid being detained. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer.
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