The expression was wholly different. ” Lucy replied, and brushed past him on the stair. They are not your children, they never were. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. Within ten minutes he had read much more than had greeted his eye. In vain Wood protested his innocence. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. Here he was hotly pursued. 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.
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