“Mike and Judy? They are both lovely! Just lovely!” warmly responded Palma.
“That is exceedingly complimentary, and would be highly satisfactory, only it is not quite exact enough. A rose is lovely, so is a pearl, so is a fawn, so is a baby.”
“Oh, yes!” exclaimed the young mother.
“So many things are lovely, you see, that to say they are lovely gives me no clear idea of them. Be more precise, dear lady.”
“Oh, then, they are so good, so sweet—but I think I had better show you their photographs,” said Palma, with sudden inspiration.
“The very thing!” exclaimed the visitor.
Palma sprang up and ran like an eager child to the other end of the drawing-room and to an etagere that stood in the corner, and took from it a large-paged but thin photograph album, with which she returned to her visitor.
“This book,” she said, “contains only the pictures of our dearest friends. There are not more than thirty-three pictures in the collection; but then there are in some cases several of each person. I will show you Mike’s and Judy’s.”
“No!” exclaimed the visitor. “Pray let me have the book and see if I can find them for myself. I have never seen them. You are naturally amazed to hear me say that, but you shall know the reason of the fact in good time,” said The O’Melaghlin, as he received the book from Palma, who, having placed it in his hands, resumed her seat, watched him as he turned over the leaves, and speculated with much interest whether he would be able to identify the pictures of his son and daughter, whom he had never seen.
Presently his face lighted up.