wear black buckles, too, on his shoes, and a black hilt on his sword.
His face was little and anxious; his eyebrows were perpetually arched,
as if in appeal, and he was accustomed, when in deep thought, to move
his lips as if in a motion of tasting. So, then, he sat before his fire
to-day after dinner, his elbow on the table where his few books lay, his
feet crossed before him, his cup of drink untouched at his side; and
meantime he tasted continually with his lips, as if better to appreciate
the values and significances of the points for his consideration.

* * * * *

It would be about half an hour later that the door opened once more and
Marjorie came in again.

She was in her fine dress to-day--fine, that is, according to the
exigencies of the time and place, though sober enough if for a
town-house--in a good blue silk, rather dark, with a little ruff, with
lace ruffles at her wrists, and a quilted petticoat, and silver
buckles. For she was a gentleman's daughter, quite clearly, and not a
yeoman's, and she must dress to her station. Her face was very pale and
quite steady. She stood opposite her father.

"Father," she said, "I am very sorry for having behaved like a goose.
You were quite right to ask those questions, and I have come back to
answer them."

He had ceased tasting as she came in. He looked at her timidly and yet
with an attempt at severity. He knew what was due from him as a father.
But for the present he had forgotten what questions they were; his mind
had been circling so wildly.