Chapter Twenty-Three‘I don’t know what girls are coming to,’ said Mabel Wadlow in her complaining voice. ‘You may think yourself very lucky not to have any. What with feeling they’re a failure if they don’t marry, and not knowing who they’ll take it into their heads to marry if they do marry, and out all night at dances, and off for the week-end without so much as telling you where they’re going—well, it isn’t any wonder that my health is such a constant anxiety to Ernest.’
Mrs Wadlow was reclining upon a couch in the drawing-room. Miss Maud Silver sat in a small armless chair at a convenient angle for conversation and knitted. The expression upon her face was one of almost reverential attention. Seldom if ever had Mabel encountered a more congenial companion. She felt that, for once, her
