She watched her mother sail about it and about in ever
narrowing circles, heard herself commended for her promptitude in leaving
Wanless, answered enquiries as to Ingram's behaviour under what Mrs.
Percival otiosely called "his bereavement," echoed speculations at to his
whereabouts--played, in short, vacantly an empty part, and kept her mother
upon tenterhooks. She gained civil entreaty this way.
But her father's bustling entry changed all this. She had not known of
herself how susceptible she still was. Vicky had made her cower; but her
father made her cry.
He affected a bluff ease in his manner of greeting her. "Well, Sancie,
well, my dear, well, well"--and then he cleared his throat; but he did not
dare to look at her. Sancie answered him by jumping into his arms, and
upset him altogether. "Oh, my girl, my girl--my little Sancie--" and then
the pair of them mingled tears, while Mrs. Percival, who thought this
exhibition out of place "under the circumstances," and not in the best
possible taste, tapped her foot on the carpet, and wished that Philippa
had been here.
But, once they were beyond a certain flood mark, as she know by long
acquaintance, Mr. Percival's emotions must be given play.
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