"Thar!" said Lambert, looking over with infinite pride and a queer expressive nod and toss of the head to Glynn, as if to say, "What do you think of your old fighting, gaming, hand-to-mouth comrade now?" "It's not every old cuss that can find a nice young lady to say as much for him, hey?" he said aloud.
"I quite understand it," returned Glynn, smiling, his eyes full of tender admiration. What a curious puzzle the whole thing was. How had Lambert alias Merrick, or Merrick alias Lambert, found the funds to keep up this establishment, which, modest as it was, must cost six or seven hundred a year? Honestly, he hoped, though from certain dimly-remembered traits he feared the lively, boyish Lambert was not the most scrupulous of men. Still, regard for so sweet, so refined a daughter must, ought to keep him straight.
"What are you going to do with yourself, Elsie, this damp, drizzling afternoon? you can't go out."
"Oh yes I can; I was just asking Madame Weber if she felt well enough to come with me to the salon; one can find all weathers in the pictures."
"A good idea, faith. Will you come with us, Glynn? for I'll be your escort myself, Elsie. Just let me get into my coat and boots, and I'll be with you in a twinkling."
"Yes, do come, that will be delightful. And you too, Mr. Glynn?"
"With infinite pleasure."
"Then I'll make my toilette before you'd say Jack Robinson," cried Lambert, as he left the room.
"You are fond of reading, Miss Lambert?" asked Glynn.
"Yes, very fond; and this is such a delightful English book. I like it much better than French poetry."