His eyebrows arched, knotting in the middle. And then there came for both of them at least a temporary awakening. "To-morrow it will be mine. She attacked his hair resolutely. You are NOT going to that ball!” Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. " "How so?" inquired Winifred. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments.
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