"I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. "Not that I know of," replied the carpenter, who had in some degree recovered his confidence. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. The opiate has done its duty. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow.
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