Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. Are you going to have any apple-tart, Stanley? The apple-tart’s been very good lately—very good!” Part 7 At the end of dinner that evening Ann Veronica began: “Father!” Her father looked at her over his glasses and spoke with grave deliberation; “If there is anything you want to say to me,” he said, “you must say it in the study. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. ” “You have her face and figure,” he muttered. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. They were looking for a guide.
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