Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. “Everybody is taking it up,” said Miss Miniver. “Let me hasten,” she said, “to reassure you. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. “You should probably wash all of that stuff off of yourself. If your wife can coach you a bit in native lingo, it will help all round. You desert your home; I throw up useful teaching, risk every hope in your career. Stanley took mustard savagely. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. “Tell me,” he said; “speak to me.
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