Only your horror of a grandfather insisted on coming with me, so I had to wait for him to be ready and travel at his pace. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. “Home, of course,” she answered. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. He went on.
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