“Be a good girl, Dumps. What I do I do for my children’s sake.”
“Of course, father;” I said, touched by the feeling which seemed to be in the kiss he had just bestowed upon me.
“By the way, Dumps, I gave you that picture of your mother?”
“Oh yes, father; but I have not looked at it yet.”
“It is a good likeness,” he said. “She was a pretty woman, and a good wife to me; I never forget that. I don’t forget it now. Good-bye, Dumps.”
“You will write, father?”
“Yes, yes; anyhow you will hear. Good-bye, child; good-bye.”
I followed him into the hall. There was a neat little Gladstone bag on a chair. It really was brand-new, and it had his initials on it.
“Why,” I said, taking it up in my hand, “this is exactly the same sort of bag as my trunk—I mean it is such very new-looking leather. How pretty! When did you get it?”
“Don’t be inquisitive, child. Is it new? Upon my word! Well, that’s all right. Good-bye, good-bye, Dumps.”