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A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. He leaned forward to better drink her in. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. She leaned a little towards him. Morningside Park had been passive and defective; all this rushed about and was active, but it was still defective. The stipendiary would have done it all very differently. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. ” “I will tell you what there is about her which is so fetching,” Drummond, who was lounging by, declared. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to.
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