"Father. I am expecting him by this train."
"I am relieved at that," said Miss Sherrard. "I shall have a painful tale to tell him."
"So you may, Miss Sherrard. You may tell him everything; but please let me tell him my story first. You must, you shall; I insist."
The girl's eyes were flashing; she was trembling all over. Just when her happiness seemed to be at its height, for Miss Sherrard and Miss Worrick to appear!
"Oh, and there's the train!" she cried. "He will be here in a minute; let me see him first. Oh, the train, is stopping, and there he is; I see him at the very end; there he is with his white hair and—let me go, let me go!"
She rushed from Miss Sherrard's retaining arm and flew up the platform, and a moment later the owner of the pink dress and leghorn hat was being clasped tightly, tightly to the breast of the magnificent-looking old gentleman, almost a king in his way, who had suddenly stepped on to the platform.
"Father, you'll protect me—they have come, they have followed me. You will let me tell you my story first? Father! father! oh, feel how my heart is beating!"
"Why, Kitty, asthore; Kitty, Kitty, my own. What is it, Kit? I say, Kit, what is wrong?"
"Nothing, nothing now that you have come; but let me tell you my story first."
"Your story first—why, of course, Kit."