“His Royal Highness shook hands with me.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Morton, while Claire’s brow grew more rugged.
“Shook hands with you, father?” said Morton eagerly.
“And asked me for a pinch of snuff.”
There was a dead silence in the room as Claire clasped her hands together and trembled, and seemed about to speak, but dared not; while Morton screwed up his mouth to whistle, but refrained, looking half contemptuously at his father the while.
“Fortune has thrown a magnificent chance in our way.”
“I say, dad, what do you mean with your magnificent chance?”
“I have hopes, too, for Claire. I cannot say much yet, but I have great hopes,” he continued, ignoring the question of his son.
“Oh, papa!”
“Yes, my child, I have. I can say no more now, but I have hopes.”