I picked up her handkerchief on the floor. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. At least for one moment, it was. "All that you have been telling me, our old Kanaka cook summed up in a phrase. Can’t face a scandal. ‘I think you’ve gone stark, staring crazy. “You’re not a virgin, are you?” It was as much an accusation as a question. ” Anna nodded. Play fair with her.
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