"Tell you wife to bring Miss Gwendoline to us."
"Miss Gwendoline here, sir? You do not mean it sure-lie, sir?"
"Numbskull! numbskull! numbskull!" cried the old fellow in an ecstasy of fury that seemed to spring up as suddenly as a squall does between the islands, "bring her or I'll be the death of you."
Without further remonstrance the old man left the room, and I demanded an explanation.
"Good servant, but an impudent rascal, sir!" he said. "Of course you must see my daughter, my beautiful daughter, Gwendoline. He's afraid you'll frighten her, I suppose! Ha! ha! Frighten my bashful, pretty one. Ha! ha!"
Anything so supremely devilish as the dried-up mirth of this old fellow it would be difficult to imagine. His very laugh seemed as if it had to crack in his throat before it could pass his lips. What would his daughter be like, living in such a house, with such companions? While I was wondering, I heard footsteps in the corridor, and then an old woman entered and curtsied respectfully. My host rose and went over to the fireplace, where he stood with his hands behind his back and the same devilish grin upon his face.
"Well, where is my daughter?"
"Sir, do you really mean it?"
"Of course I mean it. Where is she?"
In answer the old lady went to the door and called to some one in the hall.