The whole thing was so vexatious that even Mr. Vavasor was disturbed by it. As it was not term time he had no signing to do in Chancery Lane, and could not, therefore, bury his unhappiness in his daily labour,--or rather in his labour that was by no means daily. So he sat at home till four o'clock, expressing to himself in various phrases his wonder that "any man alive should ever rear a daughter." And when he got to his club the waiters found him quite unmanageable about his dinner, which he ate alone, rejecting all proposition of companionship. But later in the evening he regained his composure over a glass of whiskey-toddy and a cigar. "She's got her own money," he said to himself, "and what does it matter? I don't suppose she'll marry her cousin. I don't think she's fool enough for that. And after all she'll probably make it up again with John Grey." And in this way he determined that he might let this annoyance run off him, and that he need not as a father take the trouble of any interference.

The whole thing was so vexatious that when Mr. Vavasor went to his club the waiters found him quite unmanageable about his dinner. But later in the evening he regained his composure over a whiskey-toddy and a cigar.
"She's got her own money," he said to himself, "and what does it matter? I don't think she's fool enough to marry her cousin. And she'll probably make it up again with John Grey." So he decided that he need not take any fatherly trouble about it.
