“Yes,” chimes in Papa, “Franzy’s used ter first-class fare, old un; bring him something good.”
Mamma moves about, placing before her Prodigal the best food at hand, and presently the three are gathered about the table again, a very social family group.
But by-and-by Mamma’s quick ear catches a sound outside.
“Some one’s coming,” she says in a sharp whisper. “I wonder—”
She stops short and goes to a window, followed by Franz, who peers curiously over her shoulder.
“It’s a woman,” he says, a moment later.
“Hush, Franzy,” says Mamma sharply. And then she goes quickly to the door.
It is a woman who enters; a woman draped in black. She throws back her shrouding veil and the pure pale face of Leslie Warburton is revealed.
Franz Francoise utters a sharp ejaculation, and then as Papa’s hand presses upon his arm, he relapses into silence and draws back step by step.
“Ah!” cries Mamma, starting with extended hands to seize upon the new-comer; “ah! it’s our own dear girl!”