“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “Politics!” Ennison answered grimly. He had removed his silk hat, and now sat looking at Ann Veronica over an untouched cup of tea; he sat gloating upon her, trying to catch her eye. “I am going through the other rooms. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. Sydney was strumming over a new song which stood upon the piano. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands.
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