She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. But what if she were to marry? He glanced towards the elderly dame and found her watching him, the dimple very much in evidence. She had set out to get a beautiful life, a free, untrammelled life, self-development, without counting the cost either for herself or others. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Sheppard.
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