Mrs Fyne looked mechanically out of the window. A four-wheeler stood
before the gate under the weeping sky. The driver in his conical cape
and tarpaulin hat, streamed with water. The drooping horse looked as
though it had been fished out, half unconscious, from a pond. Mrs Fyne
found some relief in looking at that miserable sight, away from the room
in which the voice of the amiable visitor resounded with a vulgar
intonation exhorting the strayed sheep to return to the delightful fold.
"Come, Florrie, make a move. I can't wait on you all day here."

Mrs Fyne heard all this without turning her head away from the window.
Fyne on the hearthrug had to listen and to look on too. I shall not try
to form a surmise as to the real nature of the suspense. Their very
goodness must have made it very anxious. The girl's hands were lying in
her lap; her head was lowered as if in deep thought; and the other went
on delivering a sort of homily. Ingratitude was condemned in it, the
sinfulness of pride was pointed out--together with the proverbial fact
that it "goes before a fall." There were also some sound remarks as to
the danger of nonsensical notions and the disadvantages of a quick
temper. It sets one's best friends against one. "And if anybody ever
wanted friends in the world it's you, my girl." Even respect for
parental authority was invoked. "In the first hour of his trouble your
father wrote to me to take care of you--don't forget it. Yes, to me,
just a plain man, rather than to any of his fine West-End friends. You
can't get over that. And a father's a father no matter what a mess he's
got himself into. You ain't going to throw over your own father--are
you?"

It was difficult to say whether he was more absurd than cruel or more
cruel than absurd. Mrs Fyne, with the fine ear of a woman, seemed to
detect a jeering intention in his meanly unctuous tone, something more
vile than mere cruelty. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and saw
the girl raise her two hands to her head, then let them fall again on
her lap. Fyne in front of the fire was like the victim of an unholy
spell--bereft of motion and speech but obviously in pain. It was a
short pause of perfect silence, and then that "odious creature" (he must
have been really a remarkable individual in his way) struck out into
sarcasm.

"Well?..." Again a silence. "If you have fixed it up with the lady and
gentleman present here for your board and lod