The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. He was a stranger. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. . . By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. "What has put it into your head that your son yet lives?" he asked.
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