She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. You are going to accept a post as chorus girl, or super, or something of that sort. I can get that at the bar," the manager said, curtly. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck.
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