"Her own father could not be more fond of her."
Mrs. Templeton made no answer, but lighted her candle, and wishing
Lumley good night, glided from the room.
"I wonder if my grave aunt and my grave uncle took a bite at the apple before they bought the right of the tree. It looks suspicious; yet no, it can't be; there is nothing of the seducer or the seductive about the old fellow. It is not likely—here he comes."
In came Templeton, and his eyes were moist, and his brow relaxed.
"And how is the little angel, sir?" asked Ferrers.
"She kissed me, though I woke her up; children are usually cross when wakened."
"Are they?—little dears! Well, sir, so I was right, then; may I see the letter?"
"There it is."
Ferrers drew his chair to the fire, and read his own production with all the satisfaction of an anonymous author.
"How kind!—how considerate!—how delicately put!—a double favour! But perhaps, after all, it does not express your wishes."