Vee’s all right. ” John said. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. Her fingers opened and the weapon fell from her nerveless grasp. Horrid snorters! So long, Vee! Just suggested it. “Why should it matter?” he said. The man lingered. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. Her voice seemed to come from a long way off. Or perhaps my father once.
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