"I will not let you upbraid him," spoke Agnes Wilt. "My weakness was the whole mistake."
"Agnes," said the grave, bearded man, "you must walk through Kensington to-morrow with me in the sight of the whole world."
She looked up and around a moment, and staggered toward a sofa, but would have fallen had not Duff Salter caught her in his arms and placed her there with tender strength. He whispered in her ear:
"Courage, little mother!"
CHAPTER VIII.
A REAL ROOF-TREE.
Ringing the bell at the low front step of a two-story brick dwelling, Duff Salter was admitted by Mr. Knox Van de Lear, the proprietor, a tall, plain, commonplace man, who scarcely bore one feature of his venerable father. "Come in, Mr. Salter," bellowed Knox, "tea's just a-waitin' for you. Pap's here. You know Cal, certain! This is my good lady, Mrs. Van de Lear. Lottie, put on the oysters and waffles! Don't forgit the catfish. There's nothing like catfish out of the Delaware, Mr. Salter."
"Particularly if they have a corpse or two to flavor them," said Calvin Van de Lear in a low tone.
Mrs. Knox Van de Lear, a fine, large, blonde lady, took the head of the table. She had a sweet, timid voice, quite out of quantity with her bone and flesh, and her eyelashes seemed to be weak, for they closed together often and in almost regular time, and the delicate lids were quite as noticeable as her bashful blue eyes.