Her faith in human beings revived. 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. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. It was now a quarter past twelve. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. As she did so the preparation-room door opened behind her. The low ceiling made him seem abnormally tall. "If you mean to accompany us, you may need it. I’ve just seen him. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned.
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