Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. “Come on. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre. She were that miserable. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. “Believe me, I know. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. I must leave England to-night. 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. The rest of the crowd followed suit with weak laughter. I do not think you quite understand my ideals or what is becoming as between father and daughter.
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