Dr. Halford was expressing a kind of mournful regret that his daughter's marriage should take her so far away from home, when Lord Rivers interrupted him.
"My dear doctor, you are not keeping pace with the times. In the present day a voyage to Australia is not more distant as regards time than America or even the Mediterranean in years gone by. And the wonderful facility of communication by post unites friends personally separated by thousands of miles as closely in these days of rapid travelling as those who a hundred years ago merely occupied different parts of our own little island."
"Very true," replied Dr. Halford, "yet, still——" and he paused.
"Not satisfied yet?" exclaimed Lord Rivers, cheeringly, as they descended to the dining-room. "Are you more hopeful about your daughter, Mrs. Halford?"
"I am getting more reconciled to her loss," was the reply, "and perhaps in time the interchange of letters and news of Fanny's happiness will complete the cure."
During luncheon the conversation became more cheerful, and Lord Rivers was about to express his regret that he must leave such pleasant society, when the door opened and a little blue-eyed boy of about eight years old entered the room.
"Ah," exclaimed the visitor, "this is your youngest child, doctor, I suppose, of whom you were speaking just now.—Come here, my little man, and shake hands with papa's friend."
The boy advanced fearlessly and placed his little hand in that of his father's old pupil, while he looked in the face of Lord Rivers with bright, intelligent eyes, and that peculiar smile which even in childhood added such a charm to the face of Henry Halford.
"My only boy, Henry, and my only child now, I may say," was the remark of the father, in a rather sad tone.
"I see nothing in that fact calculated to make you speak sadly, doctor," said the nobleman, pushing back the brown curls from the child's broad white forehead. "There is room for any amount of knowledge here, I should say. Are you fond of your books, my boy?"