"I must write to her father," she said, in a worried voice. "I really can't promise you anything; I am very vexed at this sort of thing going on without my knowledge—very vexed. I shall write to her father to-night. I must ask you to consider the whole matter entirely indefinite until he comes. Immense responsibility ... immense! I can't say any more, Mr. Kent."
She left him on the veranda. His sensation was that she had shattered the world about him, and that a weighty portion of the ruin was lying on his chest.
[CHAPTER IV]
When Sam Walford ran over to Dieppe, in obedience to his wife's summons, he said:
"Well, what's this damn nonsense, Louisa, eh? There's nothing in this, you know—this won't do."
"Cynthia is very cut up; you had better tell her so! I'm sure I wish we had waited and gone to Brighton instead.... A lot of bother!"
"An author," he said, with amusement; "what do you do with authors? You do 'find 'em,' my dear!"
"I don't know what you mean," she returned tartly. "I can't help a young man taking a fancy to her, can I? If you're so clever, it's a pity you didn't stop here with her yourself. If you don't think it's good enough, you must say so and finish the matter, that's all. You're her father!"
"I'll talk to her," he declared. "Where is she now? Let's go and see! And where's Mr.— what d'ye call him? What's he like?"