Are you going to have any apple-tart, Stanley? The apple-tart’s been very good lately—very good!” Part 7 At the end of dinner that evening Ann Veronica began: “Father!” Her father looked at her over his glasses and spoke with grave deliberation; “If there is anything you want to say to me,” he said, “you must say it in the study. My foster mom works there as a second job. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. I had no idea even that she was a friend of yours. He had been quite right to sit down. Wood's. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. Stanley?” “I’ve fallen out with my father.
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