Marjorie Bowen

“ The Master of Stair turned at last.
"Why did you go with Mr. Wharton?" he demanded. "I desired you not to continue this acquaintance."
"I told you when I wrote," she began.
He interrupted impatiently. "Do you think I have time to read your letters? You knew my wishes—and when I returned this morning I heard that you were with Mr. Wharton at the Toyshop—on my soul—a pretty epitome of your life, I think!—with Tom Wharton at a Toyshop!"
"Everybody goes to them," she answered weakly, "I must do something—this house is unendurable."
"You do not contribute to its gaiety," he said fiercely. ”

“ She was a perfect type of Lely's heroines: he had painted her more than once and had delighted in her blonde loveliness, her small features, her great languishing blue eyes, her soft foolish mouth, the pale yellow hair smooth as satin in its great curls, the white shoulders and rosy fingers, the full throat and entrancing little dimple in her chin; she should now have been at the height of her beauty, but unhappiness had worn her delicate face, dimmed her eyes and dragged her mouth, marring the whole with an expression of fretful misery. ”

“ He came into the room as he spoke, and seated himself on one of the stiff-backed chairs by the fire.
"Where is Lady Dalrymple?" he asked drearily. Viscount Stair shut his book and so turned in his chair that he faced his son.
"Gone to the ball at Kensington," he answered dryly, "accompanied by Tom Wharton."
"Why did you permit it?" flashed the Master of Stair. The father shrugged his shoulders.
"You must manage your own wife, John," he answered. "Everybody is at the ball. Tom Wharton is as good as another."
Sir John interrupted him:
"Tom Wharton is the greatest rake in England," he said. ”