"It is her child!" shrieked Rowland, in a voice heard above the howling of the tempest, "risen from this roaring abyss to torment me. Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. But in between these wider phases of comparative confidence were gaps of disconcerting doubt, when the universe was presented as making sinister and threatening faces at her, defying her to defy, preparing a humiliating and shameful overthrow. And Rollo, who had been waiting for some encouraging sound, presented himself at the doorway. But a total stranger, a man you never saw twentyfour hours ago! It can't be thought of.
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