“She is the eldest daughter of Andrew Vanstone, of Combe-Raven.”
“Who!!!”
“Miss Vanstone, sir.”
The admiral put down his glass of wine untasted.
“You’re right, George,” he said. “I do disapprove of your choice —strongly disapprove of it.”
“Is it the misfortune of her birth, sir, that you object to?”
“God forbid! the misfortune of her birth is not her fault, poor thing. You know as well as I do, George, what I object to.”
“You object to her sister?”
“Certainly! The most liberal man alive might object to her sister, I think.”
“It’s hard, sir, to make Miss Vanstone suffer for her sister’s faults.”