'Not a word to me, Marian. I'd tell you the truth
if he had.'
'It's too disagreeable, all the same. I can't invite them here
with pleasure. Father has grown prejudiced against them all, and
he won't change. No, I shall just tell them.'
'It's very hard for you,' sighed her mother. 'If I thought I
could do any good by speaking--but I can't, my dear.'
'I know it, mother. Let us go on as we did before.'
The day after this, when Yule came home about the hour of dinner,
he called Marian's name from within the study. Marian had not
left the house to-day; her work had been set, in the shape of a
long task of copying from disorderly manuscript. She left the
sitting-room in obedience to her father's summons.
'Here's something that will afford you amusement,' he said,
holding to her the new number of The Current, and indicating the
notice of his book.
She read a few lines, then threw the thing on to the table.
'That kind of writing sickens me,' she exclaimed, with anger in
her eyes. 'Only base and heartless people can write in that way.
You surely won't let it trouble you?'
'Oh, not for a moment,' her father answered, with exaggerated
show of calm.
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