’ Her face fell. 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. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror.
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