“Maybe someday I can look them up again, just to see how they are doing. He’s got flowers. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. I—In fact, I dislike him extremely. Ennison slightly——” There was a dead silence in the little room. I could never make you understand. There must be ways of getting rid of him. Sheila pounded the kitchen table, causing the bell jar with the silk flowers to tip over and roll to the floor. ‘I did not think so. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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