Miss Garth registered her
protest in that form, and returned to the house.
When breakfast was over, and when Mr. Vanstone's hand descended to his
pocket in search of his cigar-case, Magdalen rose; looked significantly
at Miss Garth; and followed her father into the hall.
"Papa," she said, "I want to speak to you this morning--in private."
"Ay! ay!" returned Mr. Vanstone. "What about, my dear!"
"About--" Magdalen hesitated, searching for a satisfactory form of
expression, and found it. "About business, papa," she said.
Mr. Vanstone took his garden hat from the hall table--opened his eyes
in mute perplexity--attempted to associate in his mind the two
extravagantly dissimilar ideas of Magdalen and "business"--failed--and
led the way resignedly into the garden.
His daughter took his arm, and walked with him to a shady seat at a
convenient distance from the house. She dusted the seat with her
smart silk apron before her father occupied it. Mr. Vanstone was not
accustomed to such an extraordinary act of attention as this. He sat
down, looking more puzzled than ever. Magdalen immediately placed
herself on his knee, and rested her head comfortably on his shoulder.
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