“I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. You’ll have to go back to Remenham House. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. The phone did not ring. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said.
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