She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. It was fortunate that by this time Winifred had so far recovered, as to be able to afford her father the best and only solace that, under the circumstances, he could have received,—her personal attentions. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. " "They are useless," she returned. " The girl fished into the bottle for an olive.
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