“Oh, papa, papa!” I said.
He did not repulse me; he did not speak for a moment, but I felt his kind, firm clasp. Then he said:
“My poor little girl,” and he stooped and kissed me. The kiss said everything.
Mamma came forward.
“Tom, dear,” she began, a little nervously, “we have a great deal to tell you.”
Poor little mamma—what a shame it was that she should be nervous, when if she had done anything imprudent it had only been for my sake!
But papa’s first words took away all our fears.
“No, darling,” he said. I liked to hear him call mamma “darling”; he did not often do so, for he is not at all what is called “demonstrative.”
“No, you haven’t; I know all you have to tell me, and a good deal more. Indeed, I rather think I have a good deal to tell you. But first, give me a cup of nice hot tea. It is cold this afternoon;” and still with his arm thrown round my neck, he came close up to the fireplace and stood there, watching mamma as she poured out his tea in the nice neat way she does everything.
“This is comfortable,” said papa; “it’s worth having a cold journey to come home like this, especially when—when one has good news, too, to bring back.”