My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness.
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