CHAPTER XIX.
A REVELATION.
"I am as I am, and so will I be,
But how that I am, none knoweth truly;
Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free,
I am as I am, and so will I be."
—Wyatt.
Sir Barry Traleigh's parlour, at his bachelor apartments, is lit only by the flickering firelight. It chases the dark shadows out of the dim corners, and throws a cheerful brightness over the pretty crimson and gold satin furniture. Sir Barry's little dog "pug" lies on the tiger skin rug in front of the cheerful blaze, keeping watch over his master's slippers. Mr. Litchfield and Dolores sitting there, awaiting Sir Barry's return, are not slow to enjoy the luxuries spread so lavishly about them. It is nearly five o'clock on a December afternoon, and the short day is almost gone. The woman in charge of the rooms had brought in lights, but Dolores had refused to have them lit, saying the fire light was so very pleasant. Sir Barry had sent to Mr. Litchfield to know where he could secure a good boarding place for a few weeks for sister Jean. She had a persisting, little, hacking cough, that worried Sir Barry, and made him persuade her to try a change of air. Aunt Adeline, in her goodness of heart, said the girl should come to them. And Dolores was sent with her father with a special invitation. They had gone to the hotel on their arrival, and afterward drove to see Sir Barry. He was out, but they awaited his return in his pretty fire-lit parlour. Dolores has slipped off her seal skin jacket and gloves, and is sitting on the rug patting the little grey coated, brown eared dog, when the door opens.
"Mr. Litchfield, why, this is a pleasant surprise; have you been waiting long?" Sir Barry says, coming forward. Then his eyes fall on the girl crouched there by the fire, with the dog in her lap. "Dolores, Miss Litchfield."
There is an eager, expectant look in Sir Barry's pleasant eyes, he has longed so to see the girl's face, to hear her musical voice; now she is here, here in the room where he can talk to and hear her talk. Dolores rises leisurely and puts the dog down.
"How do you do, Sir Barry Traleigh?" she says coldly, not offering even to shake hands with him. She does not, she can not yet trust herself to look at the man standing before her, and Sir Barry turns to Mr. Litchfield.
"You got my letter; have you gained a place for my little friend yet?"