"Why, so it is," she said, in mock astonishment. Rank ingratitude, I call it. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet. “Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. Lee-o-no-ra. Oh, John. . “Well, no,” she answered. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed. It’s—it’s a serious prohibition. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror.
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