Dear Professor [antikvár]

CHAPTER ONE "Why must you always make tlie worst of yourself, dear child?" Gilbert DevereH had irritably enquired of his daughter only that morning. It was a reanark which had become so haibitual with him that Sarah's feelings were seldom hurt, but now in the solitude of the room over the staible which was her own private domain, she remembered and turned to examine her reflection in the discoloured looking-glass that hung on one wall. She should have been a boy, she thought, inspecting her sharply angled body and coltish limbs with disfavour, then her father might have taken more interest; but he hadn't wanted a son, he had wanted a charming exquisite daughter who flattered his ego and was a constant delight to his eye. If she had possessed only a fraction of Sylvie's looks, she might have found favour, she thought dispassionately, but her mouth seemed too wide and her eyes too big to balance her narrow face; her forehead was too high and those unsightly freckles would be a source of discouragement to anyone. "There's no gettmg away from it, I'm just plain homespun," she said aloud, then sat down at the typewriter to compose the last of the letters. "Dear Professor " she began as usual, then stopped as Sylvie's voice called to her from the stable yard. "Hi, Sarah! What are you do'mg up there?" "Seconding Father's invitation with a few weill chosen words. Come up!" her cousin shouted back. Willie, the mongrd dog, growled with mock savagery at the sound of feet on the outside staircase and took no notice when absently admonished. "For goodness' sake! Hasn't that animal learnt to 5