“My little girl, Honor. We have been travelling for the last few months.”
Clodd took the grave, small face between his big, rough hands:
“Yes. She is like you. But looks as if she were going to have more sense. Forgive me, I knew your father my dear,” laughed Clodd; “when he was younger.”
They lit their cigars and talked.
“Well, not exactly dead; we amalgamated it,” winked Clodd in answer to Danvers’ inquiry. “It was just a trifle too high-class. Besides, the old gentleman was not getting younger. It hurt him a little at first. But then came Tommy’s great success, and that has reconciled him to all things. Do they know you are in England?”
“No,” explained Danvers; “we arrived only last night.”
Clodd called directions down the speaking-tube.
“You will find hardly any change in her. One still has to keep one’s eye upon her chin. She has not even lost her old habit of taking stock of people. You remember.” Clodd laughed.
They talked a little longer, till there came a whistle, and Clodd put his ear to the tube.
“I have to see her on business,” said Clodd, rising; “you may as well come with me. They are still in the old place, Gough Square.”