It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. ’ She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. He smiled grandly; she could feel the radiance of his approval from across the wedding table.
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