It's always hard work for a rich man's son to stand alone. After he had eaten dinner with Ruth, he had gone to McClintock's; and he had heard music such as he had heard only in the great concert halls. Ann Veronica decided to be more explicit. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom. "But it wants something here. To call yourself ‘Alcide’! Your hair, your gestures, your voice, all mine! Oh, how dared you do it?” “You must not forget,” Anna said calmly, “that it is necessary for me also—to live.
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