In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. There were no evidences of any struggle, no overturned chairs or disarranged furniture. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel.
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