“Your experience was not long, my dear. You were married at Mathilde’s age.” “You may be sure of one thing, Papa, that I don’t desire an early marriage for my daughter.” “Very likely,” returned her father, getting up, and buttoning the last button of his coat; “but you may have noticed that we can’t always get just what we most desire for our children.” When he had gone, Vincent looked at his wife and smiled, but smiled without approval. She twisted her shoulders. “Oh, I suppose so,” she said; “but I do so hate to be scolded about the way I bring up Mathilde.” “Or about anything else, my dear.” “I don’t hate to be scolded by you,” she returned. “In fact, I sometimes get a sort of servile enjoyment from it. Besides,” she went on, “as a matter of fact, I bring Mathilde up particularly well, quite unlike these wild young women I see everywhere else. She tells me everything, and I have perfectly the power of making her hate any one I disapprove of. But you’ll try and find out something about this young man, won’t you, Vin?” “We’ll have a full report on him to-morrow. Do you know what his first name is?” “At the moment I don’t recall his last. Oh, yes--Wayne. I’ll ask Mathilde when we go up-stairs.” From her own bedroom door she called up. “Mathilde, what is the name of your young friend?” There was a little pause before Mathilde answered that she was sorry, but she didn’t know. Mrs. Farron turned to her husband and made a little gesture to indicate that this ignorance on the girl’s part did not bear out his theory; but she saw that he did not admit it, that he clung still to his impression. “And Vincent’s impressions--” she said to herself as she went in to dress. CHAPTER III Mr. Lanley was ruffled as he left his daughter’s drawing-room. “As if I had wanted her to marry at eighteen,” he said to himself; and he took his hat crossly from Pringle and set it hard on his head at the slight angle which he preferred. Then reflecting that Pringle was not in any way involved, he unbent slightly, and said something that sounded like: “Haryer, Pringle?” Pringle, despite his stalwart masculine appearance, had in speaking a surprisingly high, squeaky voice. “I keep my health, thank you, sir,” he said. “Anna has been somewhat ailing.” Anna was his wife, to whom he usually referred as “Mrs. Pringle”; but he made an exception in speaking to Mr. Lanley, for she had once been the Lanleys’ kitchen-maid. “Your car, sir?” No, Mr. Lanley was walking--walking, indeed, more quickly than usual under the stimulus of annoyance.