Martha had been more to her than that. Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. I'm heading for bed. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. ” “Sir John is an ass!” he declared. “I do not suppose he will be home till late.
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