“She is an adopted daughter of Colonel Conrad, who, as you doubtless know, never had any children. Her name is Florence Darley.”
“She has a beautiful face,” said Leonard.
“Yes,” said Haywood, showing three of his teeth, “everybody admires her beauty.”
At this moment the object of their conversation returned. She said:
“Colonel Conrad will see you for a moment, Mr. Haywood.”
Haywood rose from his seat, cast a barely perceptible look of triumph at the two young men, and left the parlor. He proceeded directly to his uncle’s room, and knocked. He was bade to enter.
He opened the door, expecting to see Colonel Conrad stretched out on a couch, with his dressing-gown on, a bottle of medicine by his side, and other indications of illness. But instead, there was the old man seated upright in hischair, with papers and writing material before him, staring at his visitor with an irritated expression, and looking the very reverse of weak.
“Ahem! Uncle Conrad,” began Haywood, “I called yester to see you, but——”
“Yes, I know you did,” replied the colonel, curtly. “You say you wish to see me on a matter of business. What is it?”
“Yes, it was a small matter, and not of so very much consequence. Yesterday, when you sent word that you were ill, I was quite troubled about you. So I thought I would step up this morning——”