She had a feeling as though something had dropped from her eyes, as though she had just discovered herself for the first time—discovered herself as a sleepwalker might do, abruptly among dangers, hindrances, and perplexities, on the verge of a cardinal crisis. "Keep off, you accursed jade!" roared Jonathan, "—off, I say, or—" And he struck her a violent blow with his clenched hand. “All right, Dunster,” he said. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. You are nothing of the sort. He had mentioned teaching her how to read Latin one day when she had wandered into the library. This intelligence, which she instantly communicated to the carpenter, drove him almost frantic.
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