"Eh? Which of them?" The old gentleman looked keenly over the tops of his glasses as a new thought came to him.
"Why, papa, I guess, 'cause he's got a picture a good deal like it on the back of a letter that mamma wrote him, and I saw him lookin' real hard at it the other day, and I asked him what 'twas about, and he said, 'Oh, nothin'."
"Aha!"
"What did you say?"
"Did I say something? I must have been merely clearing my throat."
"What a funny lot of noises you do make this mornin'. Well, I guess I'll paste some pictures in the book."
The Admiral lit a cigar, an indulgence of which he never was guilty before dinner, except when laboring under severe mental excitement. One thing at least seemed clear; the letter, with Jermyn's sketch, had not been destroyed; therefore he, the Admiral, could hope to get it, for men knew better than women the value of fifty thousand dollars, and they would forgive other men for asking pointed questions under the circumstances.
But had Phil the Admiral's own sketch? If so, why had he taken it from the book? Merely to tease Trixy? Scarcely.
Suddenly the Admiral smote his forehead and muttered to himself:
"How stupid of me. Mrs. Highwood herself removed that picture. She knew that her daughter had it; she knew the history of it, for I told her all, and she can scarcely have forgotten it. She has a woman's natural delicacy, bless her, about the incident being recalled to my mind, so knowing that Trixy was to bring the book to my room she has abstracted the sketch so that I should not see it and be reminded of a mortifying experience. Oh, woman, woman! How you do keep alive the human tenderness that man does so much to kill!"