"Not in the least. He never does anything wrong. He may defy man or woman to find fault with him."
"So that is it, is it? He is just a shade too good. Well, I have always thought that myself. But it's a fault on the right side."
"It's no fault, Papa. If there be any fault, it is not with him. But I am yawning and tired, and I will go to bed."
"Is he to be here to-morrow?"
"No; he returns to Nethercoats early. Good night, papa."
Mr. Vavasor, as he went up to his bedroom, felt sure that there had been something wrong between his daughter and her lover. "I don't know how she'll ever put up with him," he said to himself, "he is so terribly conceited. I shall never forget how he went on about Charles Kemble, and what a fool he made of himself."
Alice, before she went to bed, sat down and wrote a letter to her cousin Kate.