As if in answer came his own phrase, used so often in contemptuous explanation of their more troublesome vagaries—"the Grantly Strain."
He was fair-minded and he admired courage. He in no way underrated the effort it must have been for Grantly and Buz to come and confess their peccadillos to him. And he knew very well that only because they felt someone else was involved had they summoned up courage to do so.
If their evil-doings were discovered, they did not lie, these noisy, blundering children of his; but they never showed the smallest desire to draw attention to their escapades.
His mind seemed incapable of concentration that afternoon, for now he began to wonder how it was that "the children" lately had managed to emerge from the noun of multitude and each had assumed a separate identity with marked and definite characteristics.
There was Mary . . .
Mr Ffolliot frowned. If it hadn't been for Mary he really would have been quite glad to ask young Gallup to dinner. But Mary complicated matters; for he had instantly divined what had struck none of the others, a connection between the Liberal member's amiability to his sons and the fact that those sons possessed a sister.
Presently Fusby came in to make up the fire. "Do you happen to know,
Fusby, if your mistress is in the house and disengaged?"
"I saw the mistress as I came through the 'all, sir, sitting in a window reading a book. She was quite alone, sir."
"Ah," said Mr Ffolliot, "thank you, I will go to her."
As the door was closed behind his master, Fusby arose from brushing the hearth and shook his fist in that direction.