“If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. Most of it had been incomprehensible to her, or comprehensible in a way that checked further curiosity, but the figure of Vivien, hard, capable, successful, and bullying, and ordering about a veritable Teddy in the person of Frank Gardner, appealed to her. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. 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. She was slender, and sometimes she seemed tall, and walked and carried herself lightly and joyfully as one who commonly and habitually feels well, and sometimes she stooped a little and was preoccupied. That is not reasonable. "After all, he is my father, Hoddy; and I cursed him. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. Briefly, with a careless wave towards the couple, the comtesse presented them as Monsieur and Madame Valade. Oh, don't worry.
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