Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. ” “I thought I explained—” “I don’t think you can have heard me,” said her father; “I have told you to come home. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely.
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