“There, daughter, you are unjust to me. You may deem me hard, cold, unromantic, but I know these Royles. His father was as treacherous as an Indian, and I believe in heredity.”
“And I in love,” said Marie.
“And I shall be silent henceforth on the subject. Stern though I seem, I love you, my darling child, and your happiness is my one aim in life.”
“Then withdraw your opposition to Milton, for I will only be completely happy when you shall admit him to your heart as a son.”
“Ah, well,” said Salmon with a sigh, thinking of the girl’s dead mother, “I will think upon it. I must now go in to see Ouida. I will not be long detained. Remain without until I return.”
“I will yet win him over. God alone knows how I have worried over Milton’s long and extraordinary silence.”
A moment and right upon the street, she felt warm arms around her, and a heart breathing next her own.
“Marie,” was all that Milton said.
“Milton!” she exclaimed, “what a surprise to father. Your name has just left my lips. My father and I have just been indulging in another portion of our perpetual quarrel over you. Why have you been so long silent?”
“Silent, dearest,” said he in surprise.