’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. “Ann Veronica,” he said. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. ” She spoke with a certain asperity. But what a monster was this Emile. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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