"Want of sufficient attraction. You know, we are apt to think here that Englishmen, if they are well placed in their own country, do not want anything of other countries. They are on the very height of civilization, and of everything else. They have enough. And certainly, America cannot offer them much." "America is a large field for work,"--Mr. Southwode observed. "Ah yes; but what country is not? I dare say you find enough to do on the other side. Do you not?" "I have no difficulty on that score," Mr. Southwode confessed; "on either side of the Atlantic." "We were very glad to hear of the successful termination of your lawsuit," Mrs. Busby went on. "I may congratulate you, may I not? I know you do not set an over value on the goods of fortune; but at the same time, it always seems to me that the possessor of great means has a great advantage. It is true, wealth is a flood in which many people's heads and hearts are submerged; but that would never be your case, I judge." "I would rather be drowned in some other medium," he allowed. "Well, we heard right? The decisions were in your favour, and triumphantly?" "They were in my favour, and unconditionally. I did not feel that there was much to triumph about, or can be, in a family lawsuit." "No; they are very sad things. I am very glad you are out of them, and so well out of them." "Thank you. How are my young friends in the family?" "The girls? Quite well, thank you, They are unluckily neither of them at home." "Not at home! I am sorry for that. How has _my_ child developed?" he asked with a slight smile. "She has grown into a young woman," Mrs. Busby answered, with one of those utterly imperceptible, yet thoroughly perceived, changes of manner which speak of a mental check received or a mental protest made. It was not a change of manner either; nothing so tangible; I cannot tell what it was in her expression that Mr. Southwode instantly saw and felt, and that put him upon his guard and upon his mettle at once. Mrs. Busby had drawn her shawl closer round her; that was all the outward gesture. She always wore a shawl. In winter it was thick and in summer it was gossamer; but one way or another a shawl seemed essential to Mrs. Busby's well-being. What Mr. Southwode gathered from her words was a covert rebuke and rebuff. He was informed that Rotha was grown up. "It is hard to realize that," he said lightly. "It seems but the other day that I left her; and since then, nothing else has changed!" "She has changed," said Mrs. Busby drily. "May I ask, how?--besides the physical difference, which to be sure was to be looked for?" "I do not know that there is any other particular change." "That would disappoint me," said Mr. Southwode. "I hoped to find a good deal of mental growth and improvement as the fruit of these three years. She has been at school all the time?" "Yes." "What is her school record?"