Two shots were fired, and presently the clashing of swords was heard below. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames. Brendon dismissed the subject with a wave of the hand. Moments are ages now. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother.
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