She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. He could quite understand the daughter of Mr. 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. She did not think for one moment what interpretation he might put upon the word “lover. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. “I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier.
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