She's a queer-looking girl, he thought, suddenly remembering Elizabeth as she came into the room and stood by her mother. Grown big; quite grown-up, not exactly pretty; handsome rather; and she can't be more than eighteen. Probably she doesn't get on with Clarissa. "There's my Elizabeth"--that sort of thing--why not "Here's Elizabeth" simply?--trying to make out, like most mothers, that things are what they're not. She trusts to her charm too much, he thought.