Perhaps she was. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. It was that somebody had cheated you. I have had my day; and there were women in it. She had never let off a pistol in her life. But here was a girl—she must be a girl, since she was his daughter and pat-able—imitating the woman quite remarkably and cleverly. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress. Few men could have done as much. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. I studied violin with a teacher when I was younger,” she said.
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