Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. There, hanging among Ann Veronica’s more normal clothing, was a skimpy dress of red canvas, trimmed with cheap and tawdry braid, and short—it could hardly reach below the knee. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. . " "Do not needlessly alarm me, I beseech you," replied Winifred. "You can render no further service to your poor mother.
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