“Never mind me. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. The man looked hard at him. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent.
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