He took it, looked from the pictured to the living face, then, turning away with a groan, he covered his face with his hands and fell again into the chair from which he had risen.
Julie hurried to him. Her own eyes were wet with tears. After a moment's hesitation she knelt down beside him.
"I ought to ask your pardon for not having told you before," she murmured.
It was some time before Lord Lackington looked up. When at last his hands dropped, the face they uncovered was very white and old.
"So you," he said, almost in a whisper, "are the child she wrote to me about before she died?"
Julie made a sign of assent.
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"She was thirty-two when I saw her last."
There was a silence. Julie lifted one of his hands and kissed it. But he took no notice.