"If I could be of any use to her, father——"
"I know that's all you think of, Janet. You are a good child—always wanting to help others. But we must not let the spirit of self-sacrifice run away with you, you know."
He pinched her cheek softly as he spoke, and his daughter carried the long supple fingers of his hand to her lips and kissed them tenderly.
"Which reminds me," he went on rather inconsequently, "that I saw another of your friends to-day. A friend whom you have not mentioned for some time, Janetta."
"Who was that?" asked Janetta, a little puzzled by his tone.
"Another friend whom I don't quite approve of," said her father, in the same half-quizzical way, "though from a different reason. If poor Mrs. Brand is not respectable enough, this friend of yours, Janet, is more than respectable; ultra-respectable—aristocratic even——"
"Margaret Adair!" cried Janetta, flushing to the very roots of her hair. "Did you see her, father? Has she quite forgotten me?" And the tears stood in her eyes.
"I did not see Miss Margaret Adair, my dear," said her father kindly. "I saw her mother, Lady Caroline."
"Did you speak to her, father?"
"She stopped her ponies and spoke to me in the High Street, Janet. She certainly has very winning manners."