At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Those grand designs in the dome of St. “I am too much in earnest,” he answered, “to be able to take this matter lightly. Meanwhile, the combat between Kneebone and Mrs. ” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand.
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