“Because I hate you!” She spat. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. And the way he and the other men looked at her! The desire was plain on their faces, so many noblemen reduced to their simplest elements! They looked at her sideways, they looked at her backside, scanning her blue eyes and even looking right into her face. Mr. Ann Veronica was by this time quite shocked at her own thoughts, and yet they would go on with their freaks. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming.
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