“My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house. He stood a little anxious and fussy, bothered by the responsibility of her, entirely careless of what her life was or was likely to be, ignoring her thoughts and feelings, ignorant of every fact of importance in her life, explaining everything he could not understand in her as nonsense and perversity, concerned only with a terror of bothers and undesirable situations. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. We have so much to be thankful for. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging.
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