“Oh, he's a woman-hater—in fact, I believe he has a grudge against the world in general, but woman in particular. I expect”—shrewdly—“he's been crossed in love.”
At this moment Selwyn re-entered the room, his grave face clearing a little as he caught sight of his daughter.
“Hullo, Molly mine! Got back, then?” he said, smiling. “Have you made your peace with Miss Tennant, you scatterbrained young woman?”
“It's a hereditary taint, Dad—don't blame me!” retorted Molly with lazy impudence, pulling his head down and kissing him on the top of his ruffled hair.
Selwyn grinned.
“I pass,” he submitted. “And who is it that's been crossed in love?”
“The Hermit of Far End.”
“Oh”—turning to Sara—“so you have been discussing our local enigma?”
“Yes. I fancy I must have travelled down with him from Oldhampton. He seemed rather a boorish individual.”
“He would be. He doesn't like women.”