look at us. And it just went to her poor, dear head. She fell madly in love⁠—if you can call it love, in a monster like that⁠—and the extraordinary thing about it was that it didn’t horrify your father. I don’t want to be catty; but really⁠—you know!⁠—with a deformity like that⁠—You’d have thought he’d have run to the end of the world. But not at all! What are you doing, Wolf? Take your hands from your head!”

But Wolf, with his long, bony middle fingers pressed against his ears, contented himself with making a shameless grimace at the woman who had given him birth.

Quick as lightning Mrs. Solent ran to the side-table, and snatching up the letter that was beneath the book, made as though she would throw it in the fire.

This manoeuvre was entirely successful. Her son rushed upon her; and the half-playful, half-serious struggle that ensued between them ended in his wresting the letter out of her clenched fingers.