"He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. “Why?” he asked, suavely. “Look here, daddy,” she said, in a tone of great reasonableness, “I MUST go to that dance, you know. I hate children. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent.
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