Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Wood, "it may be poisoned. Mr. 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. “I was surprised, I admit,” he said. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. “I say!” he said, without any movement. ‘I am nine-and-twenty,’ he answered.
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