The two were out of sight, in the shrubbery, before Blanche's indignation found words, and addressed itself to her uncle.
"Why is that brute going away with Mr.Brinkworth ?" she asked.
"Mr.Delamayn is called to London by his father's illness," replied Sir Patrick.

"You don't like him ?" "I hate him!" Sir Patrick reflected a little.
"She is a young girl of eighteen," he thought to himself.

"And I am an old man of seventy.

Curious, that we should agree about any thing.

More than curious that we should agree in disliking Mr.Delamayn." He roused himself, and looked again at Blanche.