“Claire! Claire!” His voice trembled in its yearning. “Will—will you say that again, Claire?”
“Dear Daddy Hawkins,” she whispered.
His arms stretched out to her, and she came to them smiling through her tears.
“You've been so good to me,” she whispered again. “You are so good to me—dear, dear Daddy Hawkins.”
A wondrous light was in the old cabman's face. He held the slight form to him, trying to be so tenderly careful that he should not hurt her in his strength. He kissed her, and patted her head, and his fingers lingered as they smoothed the hair back from where it made a tiny curl about her ear.
And then he felt her drawing him toward the couch—and he became conscious that Paul Veniza was holding out his hands to them both.
And Claire knelt at the side of the couch and took one of Paul Veniza's hands, and Hawkins took the other. And no one of them looked into the other's face.
The outer door opened, and Doctor Crang came in. He stood for an instant surveying the scene, a half angry, half sarcastic smile spreading over his sallow face, and then he shrugged his shoulders.
“Ah, you're here, like me, ahead of time, Hawkins, I see!” he said shortly. “You're going to drive me to Staten Island where——”
Claire rose to her feet.