Then she would write and tell her father what she had done, and put their relationship on a new footing. He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jailfever in consequence. He turned me so that he could have a companion in his loneliness. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. She could not explain in words why they disappointed her or that she was disappointed. She was always breaking rules, whispering asides, intimating signals.
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