"We have just heard from Marguerite," said Mr. Verne, attempting to be very cheerful.
"I hope all are well, sir?" ventured Mr. Lawson timidly.
"Yes, they are in good health, but I fear that Marguerite is wearied of life in gay cities. Mr. Lawson, you cannot imagine how much I miss her. It seems as if part of my life is gone from me."
Mr. Verne's voice was husky and unsteady and his eyes had a far off wistful look that struck a vibrative chord in Phillip Lawson's breast.
"I might as well make a clean breast of it at once," thought the latter, "no good comes of carrying a pent up sorrow to one's grave without trying to seek sympathy from a fellow being—and to none would I go more willingly than her father."
A slight pause ensued and Mr. Lawson spoke.
"It is pleasant for Miss Verne to see the mother country and form comparisons for herself and no doubt she will be the better for having had a change of climate."
"Yes, that was why I did not oppose her going away. I knew that her constitution was delicate, but again, that fact made it the harder for me to associate Marguerite with late hours and all the inconveniences of fashionable life. I tell you what it is Mr. Lawson I am no advocate of fast living and I thank God that my daughter is only playing a part in which her heart has no interest."
"Miss Verne has a mind far above such things," said Mr. Lawson with some warmth.
Mrs. Montgomery had adroitly slipped out unobserved and was busying herself over some mending which was needed.