He looked a little sourly on the flushed, weak face. Perhaps there had been small charge of powder behind his shot; but anyhow, in the long run, good-nature was sure to incline him to generosity.
“I will consider of it,” he said coolly. “Perhaps you can prove yourself worthy of my interest. For the present, at least, you may stop—you, and your sister, to whom I conclude you desire me to extend the permission.”
“If you will, sir. And I can only thank you from my heart.”
His broken tones found a weak spot in the other’s breast.
“Well,” he said—“well, what are you called?”
“My name is Dennis.”
“And your sister?”
“She is Darda.”
“H’m! A pet expression, I presume.”
“Indeed, no, sir. ’Tis Hebrew, and signifies ‘Pearl of Wisdom.’”