There was a boastful engraved book-plate inside the cover—all plumes and scrolls and quarterings.
"Has my new hat come, mummy?" asked Fenella, suddenly, in the changed voice she kept for the serious affairs of life.
"I bade Druce take it up to your room," answered mother. "Have you had tea yet, dear?"
"No," said Fenella, incisively. "Ring for some while I go upstairs," and disappeared forthwith.
Paul kept his eyes upon the mottled page, but knew he was undergoing a scrutiny at once legitimate and disquieting. Mrs. Barbour spoke at last:
"I hope you don't think my little girl forward, Mr. Ingram."
Paul raised his eyes, closing the book upon his forefinger.
"I think her entirely charming."
"I know she's impulsive," the mother went on. "Yes—she is. It makes me anxious."
"You don't expect me to quarrel with her latest impulse," Ingram said, with one of his rare smiles.