"And that's the woman's work.

It's a pity Harry can't distinguish between paste and diamonds," said he.
It happened about this time that Miss Townshead sat in an attitude of expectancy in her father's house.

Townshead, still wearing the red velvet jacket, sat in the old leather chair, with the resignation of the incapable stamped upon him, and the cigar and cup of coffee close by.

His attitude seemed to imply that he was a very ill-used man, but had discovered that it was no use protesting.

He sipped his coffee delicately, and then glanced towards his daughter with a trace of irritation.
"I wish you could keep still, my dear," he said.