” “Of course you don’t,” said Miss Miniver, gesticulating triumphantly with her thin hand and thinner wrist, and patting Ann Veronica’s knee. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. Ann Veronica intervened a little in the novelist discussion with a defence of Esmond and a denial that the Egoist was obscure, and when she spoke every one else stopped talking and listened. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. In fact, Gerald had given order to the coachman to drive out of Golden Square and then stop around the corner. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. Twenty-one, twenty-two.
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