He patted her with an absent-minded rhythm, and then he said, as if he were answering some secret train of thought: "I don't see what else I could have done." "You couldn't have done anything else," replied his daughter, still nestling against him.

"But Mrs.Baxter had frightened me with her account of your sentimental admiration for Mrs.Wayne, and I thought you might want to make yourself agreeable to her at the expense of my poor child." She felt his shoulder heave with a longer breath.
"I can't imagine putting anything before Mathilde's happiness," he said, and after a pause he added: "I really must go home.

Mrs.Baxter will think me a neglectful host." "Don't you want to bring her to dine here to-night?
I'll try and get some one to meet her.

Let me see.

She thinks Mr.Wilsey--" "Oh, I can't stand Wilsey," answered her father, crossly.
"Well, I'll think of some one to sacrifice on the altar of your friendship.