“At you, dear; are you well?”
“Never better, my dear. Sit down; I want to talk to you.”
Claude shrank inwardly as she took a chair, but he was not satisfied.
“Come a little nearer, my dear.”
She obeyed, and the shrinking sensation increased as she felt that there was only one subject upon which her father was likely to speak.
“That’s better,” he said, taking her hand. “Mr Glyddyr has been here this morning?”
“No, father.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed rather sharply. “Now, I don’t quite like the tone in which you said that ‘No, father,’ my dear; and I think it is quite time that you and I came to an understanding. Claude, my dear, you have been thinking a good deal lately about what young people of your age do think of a great deal—I mean marriage.”
“Oh, no, papa,” said Claude emphatically.
“Don’t contradict, my dear. I am not blind, and it is perfectly natural that you should think of such a thing now.”