He was instantly overpowered, and stretched upon the ground. 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. “What can one say?” she exclaimed. Annabel shook her head. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee.
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