Ann Veronica

Part 1

We left Miss Stanley with Ann Veronica’s fancy dress in her hands and her eyes directed to Ann Veronica’s pseudo-Turkish slippers.

When Mr. Stanley came home at a quarter to six – an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected – his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. “She means to go.”

“Go!” he said. “Where?”

“To that ball.”

“What ball?” The question was rhetorical. He knew.

“I believe she’s dressing up-stairs – now.”

“Then tell her to undress, confound her!” The City had been thoroughly annoying that day, and he was angry from the outset.

Miss Stanley reflected on this proposal for a moment.

“I don’t think she will,” she said.

“She must,” said Mr. Stanley, and went into his study. His sister followed. “She can’t go now. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably.

“She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them.

“She told you that?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“At tea.”

“But why didn’t you prohibit once for all the whole thing? How dared she tell you that?”

“Out of defiance. She just sat and told me that was her arrangement. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’”

“And then?”

“She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk.”

“She’ll meet somebody one of these days – walking about like that.”

“She didn’t say she’d met any one.”

“But didn’t you say some more about that ball?”

“I said everything I could say as soon as I realized she was trying to avoid the topic. I said, ‘It is no use your telling me about this walk and pretend I’ve been told about the ball, because you haven’t. Your father has forbidden you to go!’”

“Well?”

“She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty to go to that ball!’”

“Felt it her duty!”

“‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business. Your disobedience be upon your own head.’”

“But that is flat rebellion!” said Mr. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. “You ought at once – you ought at once to have told her that. What duty does a girl owe to any one before her father? Obedience to him, that is surely the first law. What CAN she put before that?” His voice began to rise. “One would think I had said nothing about the matter. One would think I had agreed to her going. I suppose this is what she learns in her infernal London colleges. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish – ”

“Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley.

He stopped abruptly. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts.

“Tell her,” said Mr. Stanley, with an imperious gesture, “to come in here.”

Part 2

Miss Stanley emerged from the study and stood watching Ann Veronica descend.

The girl was flushed with excitement, bright-eyed, and braced for a struggle; her aunt had never seen her looking so fine or so pretty. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded opera-cloak. Beneath the hood it was evident that her rebellious hair was bound up with red silk, and fastened by some device in her ears (unless she had them pierced, which was too dreadful a thing to suppose!) were long brass filigree earrings.

“I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica.

“Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you.”

Ann Veronica hesitated, and then stood in the open doorway and regarded her father’s stern presence. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful off-handedness. “I’m just in time to say good-bye before I go, father. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball.”

“Now look here, Ann Veronica,” said Mr. Stanley, “just a moment. You are NOT going to that ball!”

Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note.

“I thought we had discussed that, father.”

“You are not going to that ball! You are not going out of this house in that get-up!”

Ann Veronica tried yet more earnestly to treat him, as she would treat any man, with an insistence upon her due of masculine respect. “You see,” she said, very gently, “I AM going. I am sorry to seem to disobey you, but I am. I wish” – she found she had embarked on a bad sentence – “I wish we needn’t have quarrelled.”

She stopped abruptly, and turned about toward the front door. In a moment he was beside her. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. “I said you were” – he shouted – “NOT TO GO!”