Mr Ffolliot sighed. "Remember," he said solemnly, "that should you see him again you do not know that young man. . . ."
Silence on the part of Mary. Deep thought on the brow of Mr Ffolliot.
"To-morrow," he said at last, "you may do up your hair."
"Oh, father, mayn't I do it up to-night before church. I should love to, do let me."
"No, my child, to-morrow is more suitable."
Mary did not ask why. None of the children except the Kitten ever questioned any of Mr Ffolliot's decisions . . . to him.
"Have you done with me, father?" Mary asked. "I think it must be tea-time."
"Yes, Mary, you may go, but remember, nothing of this sort must ever occur again; it has distressed and annoyed me."
"I'm sorry, father, I didn't think . . ."
"You never do," said Mr Ffolliot, "that is what I complain of."