The stranger with a bow returned to his table. His face clouded with anger. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. Besides, I would tear out my tongue rather than let it speak her mother's infamy. ‘Poor things. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. . I can't give you my hand; but you may take it.
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