A child's face was turned up to hers with a pretty appeal of melancholy.
Mrs.Willoughby was moved to kiss the girl again.

In spite of a similarity of years, she had an affection almost maternal for Clarice; and, with an intuition, too, which was almost maternal, she was able to appreciate the sincerity of the girl's distress, with a doubtful smile at the gravity of its cause.
Clarice threw her arms about Mrs.Willoughby's neck.

'Oh, Connie,' she quavered, 'you can't guess what has happened!' The voice threatened to break into sobs, and there were tears already brimming the eyes.
'Never mind; you shall tell me after lunch.' At lunch Mrs.Willoughby industriously beguiled her with anecdotes.

She talked of an uncle of Clarice, a Philistine sea-captain with pronounced opinions upon the advance of woman, ludicrously mimicking his efforts to adapt a quarter-deck style of denunciation to the gentler atmosphere of a drawing-room.

To sharpen his diatribes the worthy captain was in the habit of straining ineffectually after epigrams.