I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. Recovering himself quickly his instinct of self-defence was quicker than his recollection of Anna’s presence.
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