He was perhaps forty-five years of age. He had assumed that her leaving home was the point at issue, that everything turned on that, and that the sole alternative was obedience, and she had fallen in with that assumption until rebellion seemed a sacred principle. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. But this is a great lark, Ann Veronica! This turns life into a glorious adventure!” “Ah!” she cried in triumph. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle.
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