‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. ‘You see now how dangerous it is to play this lone hand. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. He too looked at the girl, slackened his pace and looked at her again through his eye-glasses, looked over his shoulder after he had passed, and finally came to a dead stop. After all, I fancy that I shall have to apply for a situation as a nursery governess who understands French. At this gate two paths meet.
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