up. From the height of the dog-cart she looked at her child; and the
girlishness of Ethel's form, the self-consciousness of newly-arrived
womanhood in her innocent and timid eyes, the virgin richness of her
vitality, made Leonora feel sad, superior, and protective.

'Oh, mother! Where's father?' Ethel exclaimed, staring at her, struck
with a foolish wonder to see her mother where her father had been an
hour before.

'What a schoolgirl she is! And at her age I was a mother twice over!'
thought Leonora; but she said aloud: 'Jump up quickly, my dear. You
know Prince won't stand.'

Ethel obeyed, awkwardly. As she did so the mother scrutinised the rather
lanky figure, the long dark skirt, the pale blouse, and the straw hat,
in a single glance that missed no detail. Leonora was not quite
dissatisfied; Ethel carried herself tolerably, she resembled her mother;
she had more distinction than her sisters, but her manner was often
lackadaisical.

'Your father was very vexed about something,' said Leonora, when she had
recounted the meeting at the top of Oldcastle Street. 'Where's Milly?'

'I don't know, mother--I think she went out for a walk.' The girl added
apprehensively: 'Why?'

'Oh, nothing!' said Leonora, pretending not to observe that Ethel had
blushed. 'If I were you, Ethel, I should let that belt out one hole ...
not here, my dear child, not here. When you get home. How was Aunt
Hannah?'