“Lucy! You found me! I was just about to sleep some of those rum and Cokes off like the pig I am. It is not the woman who speaks there. Everything was going to hell. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Then go and fetch this daughter of yourn. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know.
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