Ennison listened, and his eyes glowed. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. The lady grasped it more firmly and turned it upon Hilary. ‘Do not beg my pardon. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. .
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