The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. "A neighbour offered me a drive to Paddington; and, as I haven't heard of my son for some time, I couldn't resist the temptation of stepping on to inquire after him, and to thank you for your great goodness to us both, I've brought a little garden-stuff and a few new-laid eggs for you, Ma'am," she added turning to Mrs. "Mr. Considering how little he lets her have. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. ” She said wistfully. "What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?" asked he. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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