“Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. But now Ann Veronica knew what was the matter with her. And, anyhow, it doesn’t matter to us. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. I would like to talk to you about this—soon. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored.
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