'I am not hungry. Go, child, go; do not grieve me,' said the old man in a low tone.
'Grieve you? Dear papa, never!' said the girl, her voice softening to tenderness in a moment. 'I will run straight to my room.—Come, Lorez.'
The door closed. 'Now for us two,' thought Waring.
But the cloud had passed from old Fog's face, and he drew up his chair confidentially. 'You see how it is,' he began in an apologetic tone; 'that child is the darling of my life, and I could not resist taking those things for her; she has so few books, and she likes those little lumps of sugar.'
'And the Titian picture?' said Waring, watching him doubtfully.
'A father's foolish pride; I knew she was lovelier, but I wanted to see the two side by side. She is lovelier, isn't she?'
'I do not think so.'
'Don't you?' said old Fog in a disappointed tone. 'Well, I suppose I am foolish about her; we live here all alone, you see: my sister brought her up.'
'The Aunt Shadow who has gone away?'
'Yes; she was my sister, and—and she went away last year,' said the old man. 'Have a pipe?'