. I don’t. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon. ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. Things were thrown here and there, to be taken up, or again cast aside, as the whim arose; while the broken-backed chairs and crazy table bore the marks of many a conflict. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. " CHAPTER XIV.
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