The speaker brought a hand around from his back, prepared to meet his niece, whom he scrutinized without a change of expression. She possessed herself not only of the hand, but his arm, and deliberately kissed his cheek.
"I hope you received my letter about the boat, Uncle Calvin. You don't know how happy you made me."
Dunham noted the surprised start, and received the frowning look which the judge sent in his direction. The rose leaf of Sylvia's face remained close to the parchment folds of the lawyer's cheek.
"Well, it was about time I made you happy, wasn't it?" he replied.
"I ought to stay here now," said Sylvia, "and row you about, instead of going back to Hawk Island."
"Oh. You're going back to Hawk Island?" The girl thought she detected a note of disappointment in the brusque tone.
"I'm not sure. I haven't decided," she returned.
"She is going back," observed Dunham affably, "with me in about an hour."
Judge Trent glared at the speaker. Both Sylvia's hands being clasped about his arm, he was holding himself with conscious and wooden rigidity. This was his own flesh and blood, however, and she was clinging to him, and Dunham might be hanged for all he cared.
"My niece will decide that, and not you," he returned with surprising belligerency.