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And here he was, but a hundred yards away, this wastrel who trailed his genius through the mud. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. “Tell him that he is mad. Spurling. “Is it your maid?” he asked. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. “Look here, father,” she said, with a change in her voice, “suppose I won’t stand it?” He regarded her as though this was a new idea. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. ” She lingered over her tea, and glancing around, a sudden reflection on the change in her surroundings from the scene of her last night’s supper brought a faint, humorous smile to her lips. ‘You don’t know him. " "Understand what?" "You or this girl.
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