"Not one thing more, other than for yourself," from Mamma, "and I shall mention the matter to your father, now," happily, "there's nothing in it for him to feel worried over now."
Her father spoke to Selina that evening, stopping her on her way up the stairs as he came down.
"Your mother has told me about this teaching, since I got home," he said. "Stop a moment, Selina."
He lifted her face by a hand placed softly beneath her chin as they stood there on the steps. The refined, rather delicate face with the close brown beard she perforce thus looked up into, was sensitive as her own.
The eyes seemed to be regarding her as from a new viewpoint. His own little daughter, this young person with the all too heavy flaxen plaits and the dress-skirt down to her instep!
"Your mother assures me you chose to do this teaching yourself, Selina? Am I to decry it, or applaud it?"
She was horribly embarrassed, not being accustomed to discuss her affairs in this way with him, communications of an intimate nature between them always being through her mother. The thing was to end the interview as quickly as possible and get away from the disturbing proximity.
"It's settled, Papa, so don't decry it," she spoke stiffly and even while doing so was ashamed of it.
He was regarding her a little wistfully. "Your mother tells me, Selina, that you will need a winter dress?" Was he groping, perhaps sorrowfully, trying to find some point through which to reach her? "See to it that it comes from me, will you, and that it is a nice one?"
Again she was ashamed, this time of the relief with which she fled from his kiss and the touch of his hand on her shoulder.