" "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. He nodded silently, too full for words. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. E below. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. ” “Think not,” that young man remarked laconically. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. Kneebone's 346 XIV.
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