“Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid you are! He doesn’t understand. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. “He writes very well,” said Ann Veronica. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river.
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