"As the land happens to belong to me, perhaps I may be allowed to arrange it as pleases myself," said Mr. Delaney, in a haughty tone.
His sister favored him with a long, reflective gaze.
"He is just as obstinate as ever," she muttered to herself. "With that cleft in his chin, what else can be expected? There is no use bothering him on that point at present, and, as he won't allow me to talk of poor Evangeline,—who had, poor soul, as many faults as I ever saw packed into a human being,—there is nothing whatever for me to do but to look up those children."
Mrs. Dolman rose from her seat as this thought came to her.
"I am tired," she said. "From Yorkshire to Delaney Manor is a long journey, as perhaps you do not remember, David; so I will seek my room after first having informed you what the object of my visit is."
"I should be interested to know that, Jane," he answered, in a somewhat softened tone.
"Well, seeing I am the only sister you have—"
"But we never did pull well together," interrupted he.
"We used to play in the same garden," she answered, and for the first time a really soft and affectionate look came into her face. "I hope to goodness, David, that the garden is not altered."
"It is much the same as always, Jane. The children occupy it a good deal."