Jonathan threw open the street-door. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. You got to take the world as it is, and the only possible trade for a girl that isn’t sweated is to get hold of a man and make him do it for her. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion.
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