He gave her time to take off her boots, then he sent for her.
He sat down at his writing-table and awaited her, feeling intensely annoyed.
How dared that mud-bespattered young man speak to her?
How could Mary be so wanting in dignity as to reply?
What was Marjory about to allow it?
Those children had far too much latitude.
He was in that frame of mind which, during the middle ages, resulted in the immurement of such disturbing daughters in the topmost turrets of their fathers' castles.
Mary came in, shut the door softly, and waited just inside it to say nervously:
"You sent for me, father?"
"Come here," said Mr Ffolliot.