"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively. ‘But he must have—’ ‘Nicholas Charvill never did anything he must do,’ Mrs Sindlesham said evenly. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. ” She glanced into his blue eyes wearily. ‘She knows them. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Their expression was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand times plainer than hers. She had no intention whatsoever of spending her life in a convent, but that was not his affair. ” The truth prevailed. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship.
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