To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. I said intensity of perception. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library.
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