“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. ’. But he. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. “We don’t want things to happen!” Never had he shown his daughter so clearly that the womenkind he was persuaded he had to protect and control could please him in one way, and in one way only, and that was by doing nothing except the punctual domestic duties and being nothing except restful appearances.
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