Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. She tucked the mission Bible under her arm, and crooking a finger at Rollo, went forth to the west beach where the sou'-west surge piled up muddily, burdened with broken spars, crates, boxes, and weeds. “I should like to understand you,” he said. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. There’s something about you, a little flavor of Will, I suppose, that makes one feel—good luck about you and success.
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