This was some time ago. In the routine of her secretarial duties
she had, one morning, opened and read a letter, not marked
"Private" or "Personal," whose tenor she could scarcely
understand. When she handed it to her father, he smiled,
vouchsafed a specious explanation, and looked at her in just the
same crafty and ignoble fashion, and she shrank away frightened.
The matter kept her awake for a couple of nights. Then, for sheer
easing of her heart, she went to her adored Betty Fairfax, her
Lady Patroness and Mother Confessor, who, being wise and strong,
and possessing the power of making her kind eyes unfathomable,
laughed, bade her believe her father's explanation, and sent her
away comforted. The incident passed out of her mind. But now
memory smote her, as she shrank from her father's gaze and the
insincere smile on his thin lips.
"For one thing," he replied after a pause, pulling his straggly
beard, "your poor dear mother was a lady, and if she had lived she
would have wanted you to marry a gentleman. It's for her sake I've
given you an education that fits you to consort with gentlefolk--
just for her sake--don't make any mistake about it, for I've
always hated the breed.
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