“Have to go now. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed. ‘Get out! Out, I say! Think I want another miserable cowardly good-for-nothing wastrel on my hands? Begone! Out of my house!’ He drove them to the door, grimly satisfied when the girl’s nerve broke. Both had lived rather quietly until a scandal had opened up a can of worms for the son, allegations of child abduction, reported sightings of a white van around nearby elementary schools. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. His face darkened. Still—” Then, with incredible and obviously deliberate stupidity, and a voice as flat as her own, he asked, “Who is the man?” Her spirit raged within her at the dumbness, the paralysis that had fallen upon her.
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