She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish. “Think of what Lady Palsworthy will say! Think of what”—So-and-so —“will say! What are we to tell people? “Besides, what am I to tell your father?” At first it had not been at all clear to Ann Veronica that she would refuse to return home; she had had some dream of a capitulation that should leave her an enlarged and defined freedom, but as her aunt put this aspect and that of her flight to her, as she wandered illogically and inconsistently from one urgent consideration to another, as she mingled assurances and aspects and emotions, it became clearer and clearer to the girl that there could be little or no change in the position of things if she returned. She was to have fifteen pounds, and no more. He wouldn’t like it if people did it to him. .
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