author - "Charles Reade"

The Morning-Room Of A Large House In Portman Square, London. A Gentleman In The Prime Of Life Stood With His Elbow On The Broad Mantel-Piece, And Made Himself Agreeable To A Young Lady, Seated A Little Way Off, Playing At Work. To The Ear He Was Only Conversing, But His Eyes Dwelt On Her With Loving Admiration All The Time. Her Posture Was Favorable To This Furtive Inspection, For She Leaned Her Fair Head Over Her Work With A Pretty, Modest, Demure Air, That Seemed To Say, "I Suspect I Am