'Then stay; she loves you.'
'A child's love.'
'She will develop—'
'Not into my wife if I know myself,' said Waring, curtly.
Old Fog sat silent a moment. 'Is she not lovely and good?' he said in a low voice.
'She is; but she is your daughter as well.'
'She is not.'
'She is not! What then?'.
'I—I do not know; I found her, a baby, by the wayside.'
'A foundling! So much the better, that is even a step lower,' said the younger man, laughing roughly. And the other crept away as though he had been struck.