As he passed up through
the little flower-garden at the Abbey House, he came across his
daughter, picking the blight from her shooting rose-trees.
"Angela," he said, "I am sorry if I offended your prejudices this
afternoon. Don't let us say anything more about it; but I want you to
come and pay a formal call with me at Isleworth to-morrow. It will
only be civil that you should do so."
"I never paid a call in my life," she answered, doubtfully, "and I
don't want to call on my cousin George."
"Oh! very well," and he began to move on. She stopped him.
"I will go, if you like."
"At three o'clock, then. Oh! by the way, don't be surprised if you see
a young gentleman fishing here to-morrow."
Angela reflected to herself that she had never yet seen a young
gentleman to speak to in her life, and then asked, with undisguised
interest, who he was.
"Well, he is a sort of connection of your own, through the Prestons,
who are cousins of ours, if any of them are left. His mother was a
Preston, and his name is Arthur Preston Heigham. George told me
something about him just now, and, on thinking it over, I remember the
whole story.
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