Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. "Those chops, fried potatoes, and buttered toast. She would not sleep for fear of losing a moment of that sense of his proximity. Something has happened to change her marvellously, either that, or she wilfully deceived me and every one else in those days as to her real self. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. Her back had stiffened, and her hazel eyes looked steadfastly ahead. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother.
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