Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. " He stuffed the printed chintz into her arms and smiled into her eyes. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. Only a son’s another story. But "fine" is the word. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. This lapse was possibly due to her apparent determination to make full protest of Hilary’s conduct. I rather think they have kicked him, from the tone of some of the letters. .
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