She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. At length, she suddenly started to her feet; and before Winifred could prevent her, staggered up to Thames. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. His ideas about girls and women were of a sentimental and modest quality; they were creatures, he thought, either too bad for a modern vocabulary, and then frequently most undesirably desirable, or too pure and good for life. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people.
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