How could she tell him what indeed already began to puzzle herself, why she had borrowed that money at all? The plain fact was that she had grabbed a bait. ’ ‘What young lady?’ demanded a voice from the back of the hall. . “So long as I am your father, so long as your life is entrusted to my care, I feel bound by every obligation to use my authority to check this odd disposition of yours toward extravagant enterprises. Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains, and openly despised golf. She frowned, appearing to think for a moment. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance. That would come later. ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up.
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