She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Her eyes were wide open with amazement. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. "But be prudent, my angel. ” She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him.
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