He was sitting in his study one morning—to be accurate, it was the first Saturday in November, two days after the events of the last chapter—preparing to begin the composition of his sermon for the next day. They had dined up at the great house the night before quite quietly with Lord Talgarth and Archie, who had just come back.
He had selected his text with great care from the Gospel for the day, when the door suddenly opened and Jenny came in. This was very unusual on Saturday morning; it was an understood thing that he must be at his sermon; but his faint sense of annoyance was completely dispelled by his daughter's face. She was quite pale—not exactly as if she had received a shock, but as if she had made up her mind to something; there was no sign of tremor in her face; on the contrary, she looked extremely determined, but her eyes searched his as she stopped.
"I'm dreadfully sorry, father, but may I talk to you for a few minutes?"
She did not wait for his answer, but came straight in and sat down in his easy-chair. He laid his pen down and turned a little at his writing-table to face her.
"Certainly, dear. What is it? Nothing wrong?"
(He noticed she had a note in her hand.)
"No, nothing wrong...." She hesitated. "But it's rather important."
"Well?"
She glanced down at the note she carried. Then she looked up at him again.
"Father, I suppose you've thought of my marrying some day—in spite of Frank?"