“Don’t know me, eh? I like that. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. “I shan’t eat him. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. ‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. When he came to a certain sentence in Brendon’s letter he stopped short and looked up at her. Her lips parted, but no words came. “There wasn’t.
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