" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. Somebody tricked you back yonder—baited you for spite.
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