The eyes of Miss Garth followed her indignantly; and Frank slipped out on his side at that favorable opportunity.
Under these circumstances, there was but one course that any respectable woman could take--she could only shudder.

Miss Garth registered her protest in that form, and returned to the house.
When breakfast was over, and when Mr.Vanstone's hand descended to his pocket in search of his cigar-case, Magdalen rose; looked significantly at Miss Garth; and followed her father into the hall.
"Papa," she said, "I want to speak to you this morning--in private." "Ay! ay!" returned Mr.Vanstone.

"What about, my dear!" "About--" Magdalen hesitated, searching for a satisfactory form of expression, and found it.

"About business, papa," she said.
Mr.Vanstone took his garden hat from the hall table--opened his eyes in mute perplexity--attempted to associate in his mind the two extravagantly dissimilar ideas of Magdalen and "business"-- failed--and led the way resignedly into the garden.
His daughter took his arm, and walked with him to a shady seat at a convenient distance from the house.

She dusted the seat with her smart silk apron before her father occupied it.