Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. But it was hopelessly hard to put. His eyes were bright with the hunt. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. I ought to stay the night through; but I'm late now for an operation at the hospital. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. “If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him. Earles closed the piano with a little bang. He and her father shook hands manfully.
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