You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. “Isn’t that rather a strange question—under the circumstances?” he asked quietly. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. Teddy handed her into the second-class compartment her season-ticket warranted, and declared she was “simply splendid. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. “But, forgive me, you are tired. On this side of the canal she has no place to go. Thank him, not me, man. Shari was to be protected, to be dissuaded from driving in cars with older boys at night, to be steered away from dope and beer and certain friends who had no plans to work or to go to college. But it was the form of her ruling determination; it was the only form that she ever allowed to see daylight. She looked at him gravely and squinted. "I alone am to blame.
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