Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites. ‘Why?’ Melusine eyed him dubiously. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. Here was a thundering blow. ” “I don’t care if it does,” said Ann Veronica.
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