"You poor little tyke!" he said. "Now lean back and do as you're told. I'm going to ring for food. Just plain, homely food. I'm as hungry as a bear myself. I came to you from the vessel. I sent mother home in a cab. I had to see you. We'll eat—play; and then, my precious one, we'll talk business."
"How I have wanted you! needed you!" Again the pitiful wail.
"Now behave, child! When the waiter comes we must be as staid as Darby and Joan. You poor little girl! Heavens! how big your eyes are, and how frightened! Come in! Yes. This is the order; serve it here."
The waiter took the order wrapped in a good-sized bill, and departed on willing feet.
"Your hair is about all that's familiar; longing for me couldn't take the shine from that!" Travers kissed it.
"I see my next case," he laughed. "To get you in shape will be quite an achievement. We both need—play. We thrive on that."
"Yes, my dear, my dear; but I have forgotten how!"
"Nonsense! Here's the food. Put the table near the grate"—this to the man—"things smoking hot; that's good. The wine, please. Thanks! Miss Glynn, to your health!"
How Travers managed it no one could tell, but his own unfettered joy drove doubt and care from the little room. Priscilla, warmed and comforted, laughed and responded, and the meal was a merry one. But it was over at last, and the grim spectre stalked once more. Travers noticed the haunted look in the eyes following his every movement, and took warning. Something was seriously wrong, that was evident; but he had boundless faith in his love and power to drive the cloud away. After the room was cleared of dishes and the grateful waiter, Travers attacked the shadow at once.
He drew a stool to Priscilla's chair and flung his long body beside her.