He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “How could he call except in your absence, as you are never at home in the afternoon. Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion. I couldn’t help the thought.
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