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. Curiously enough nothing will persuade him that she is not ‘Alcide. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. Did he track her? She was unaware if he did. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. She helped him take it off.
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