J. S. Fletcher

“ Braxfield. "Sit down again—as you're concerned in Guy Markenmore's affairs, you're concerned in his brother's, my son-in-law. I said I didn't mind your knowing the facts of this marriage—I don't mind anybody knowing; it's not my fault that it hasn't been open. It was like this, Mr. Fransemmery. You know that my daughter is a very pretty, very graceful, highly accomplished girl. She gets her good looks from my family—all our women have been distinguished for their good looks, though I say it myself." ”

“ Blick. There is just one human habitation in it, tenanted by a woman whom Mrs. Braxfield no doubt knows—Margaret Hilson. It was very chilly in that valley—a sunless, cold place always—and I asked Margaret Hilson to let me sit by her cottage fire while I ate my lunch, which I had carried out with me. This woman is a close, reserved person—the sort, I should say, who could keep secrets for ever if she chose—but she talked to me with some freedom about the present events and situation. ”

“ Fransemmery's sentiments, Mrs. Braxfield," added Blick with a bow. "Precisely what I was thinking!"
"Well, I've worn very well," said Mrs. Braxfield complacently. "We all do—and as I say, my daughter has inherited the family good looks. And as for her accomplishments—well, if she isn't a well-educated young woman, it's her own fault. She went to the Girl's High School at Selcaster from being ten until she was fifteen; then she'd two years at the very best boarding-school I could hear of in London, and she finished off with twelve months in Paris. ”