She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. Very soon she would be able to forget it. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. She laid her hand upon his arm. The very facts that Miss Miniver never stated an argument clearly, that she was never embarrassed by a sense of self-contradiction, and had little more respect for consistency of statement than a washerwoman has for wisps of vapor, which made Ann Veronica critical and hostile at their first encounter in Morningside Park, became at last with constant association the secret of Miss Miniver’s growing influence. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. ‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones.
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