Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. ‘Will you stop hedging? I’m hanged if I go on with this ridiculous cat and mouse game. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. But the whole set of some three or four shelves were of wood. Her heart in her mouth, she heard his foot scrape on the floorboard and knew from his expression that Gosse had heard it too. If I let you believe I did not love you, and they found me, your shame would be negligible. There was one letter.
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