"I was about to ask you concerning the—the daughter," he said. "Is she—?"
"She lives with my family," I replied. "Letitia—"
"Ah, yes," he said; "Letitia! That is the name—Letitia Primrose—well, well, well, well. Now, that's nice, isn't it? She lives with you, you say."
"Yes," I explained, "she has lived with my family since her father's death."
"He was a remarkable man, sir," Mr. Percival declared. "Yes, sir, he was a remarkable man. Dr. Primrose was a pulpit orator of unusual power, sir—of unusual power. And something of a poet, sir, I believe."
"Yes," I assented.
"I never read his verse," said the little old gentleman, "but I have heard it said that he was a fine hand at it—a fine hand at it. In fact, I—"
He paused modestly.
"I am something of a writer myself."