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She did not know why at least not exactly why his relation with his daughter should be a sore spot in his emotional life, but she knew quite well that this was true. There was on the surface, nothing, or nowhere near enough, to account for it. He had always been, Miss Wollaston felt, an adorer to the verge of folly of this lovely pale-blonde daughter of his.
Her complexion was waxen; her long pale-blonde hair was braided in two strands and fell from under her obbon the name given by the Franks to a sort of skull-cap woven of gold and silver thread over her shoulders, that were bare like her arms. The advanced stage of pregnancy in which she was imparted to her sweet sad features an expression of suffering.
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