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Allegra came running in from the garden, and broke the thread of the conversation. Isola put the visiting-cards into an envelope and addressed it to Mrs. Vansittart Crowther. She felt that the kindly matron would be puzzled and vexed at this ceremony, from a young person towards whom she had assumed so motherly a tone, urging her to run over to Glenaveril at any hour of the day—asking her to lunch or to tea at least once a week—wanting to take her for drives to Lostwithiel, or railway jaunts to Plymouth.§Â¤¬¥¥¥¼¤¤ã§¤

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“I’m sorry to bother you about this,” went on Varley in his languid and impressive way; “but you see I’ve got to do my duty by you. I’m your guardian—but only your guardian—and some of these days some of your people may turn up and claim you. They would probably want to know what the devil I meant by it, if you did not know how to read and write.”¥ì¥¥ëÑ

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A moment after the question was put, he felt full of remorse.¥¤î¤³ô¤¤¤¥Â

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