“We always have things out with OUR father, poor dear!” said Hetty. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her. “Okay. ‘That’s what started the fracas,’ Gerald admitted ruefully, nursing his injured hand as he recalled it. “He’s a Fellow of the Royal Society, and he can’t be much over thirty,” said Miss Klegg.
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