"Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. Each of my scholars thinks it his own shirt. “What do you think of that?” he asked. ” “Perhaps you don’t. As though it was indelicate—it’s just a sort of shyness. Oh! I'm in such a fluster!" Upon which, she snatched up her fan, cast a look into the glass, smoothed down her scarf, threw a soft expression into her features, and led the way into the next room, whither she was followed by her daughter and Thames Darrell. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord.
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