” “Auntie?” asked Constance, who was conversant with Ann Veronica’s affairs. ‘You will arrest me? For—for—’ ‘Trespass, theft and spying,’ snapped Hilary. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. What’s that?” They both stood listening. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good.
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