Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. He waved a cordial goodbye. Aroused by the sound of the church bells, he resolved, at whatever risk, to attend Divine service. Under the plumed hat, her eye kindled. He won’t be in uniform. I know. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. Lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to Lady Trafford. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.
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