Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl.
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