"Is your aunt at home?" he continued. So then, the man should be recognized—but he still eluded Joan's memory.
"No, she is not. She will not be back for some time. I am sorry that I cannot recall you—I am sure I have seen you—but——"
"You'd have a remarkable memory if you did recall me," there was a sneer in the laugh that followed the words; "you were very young when you saw me before. Perhaps I can help you—you are—Joan, are you not?"
"Yes." Joan sat down opposite the man—her hands were clasped close.
"I'm George Thornton, formerly of the Philippines, later of South Africa, more recently of New York, where I stayed long enough to learn my way here. Incidentally, I am your father."
Had Joan been standing she would have fallen. As it was, she quickly overcame the dizziness that made the speaker seem to dance about and, by gripping her hands closer, she steadied herself.
"I suppose you have never heard of me before?"
"Oh! yes!" Joan listened to her own voice critically; "Aunt Doris told Nancy and me all about you."
"All, eh?" Thornton could barely keep the surprise and relief from his voice. This simplified matters and he could talk freely.
"What do you want?" The question as Joan spoke it sounded brutal. "I do not suppose you have come here, after all these years, for nothing."