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. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. - You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill.
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