We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. CHAPTER XVIII. I’ve never had these crying fits before. Fortescue had not much ability to keep her sister, and a little while after her mother’s death Ann Veronica met Gwen suddenly on the staircase coming from her father’s study, shockingly dingy in dusty mourning and tearful and resentful, and after that Gwen receded from the Morningside Park world, and not even the begging letters and distressful communications that her father and aunt received, but only a vague intimation of dreadfulness, a leakage of incidental comment, flashes of paternal anger at “that blackguard,” came to Ann Veronica’s ears. ‘Give me that!’ He took his finger away from her neck and made a grab at the handkerchief. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime.
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