"Very well. We will have our first lesson on Monday. But before we begin, you shall go and bowl your hoop a dozen times round the square at the bottom of the street, and I will sit on a doorstep, with a doll in my arms, and watch you."
All at once Peter Byrne, who for the last ten minutes had been gazing intently into the fire, and neither stirring nor speaking, turned in his chair, and said to Miriam--
"Go up to your room, Pussy, for a little while; I want to have a little private talk with Mr. Van Duren."
Miriam rose.
"Shall I not see you again?" asked Van Duren.
"Yes," whispered Miriam.
Then she crossed to the basket of flowers, plucked a spray, placed it in the bosom of her dress, smiled at Van Duren, and went.
Van Duren's face lost its brightness as soon as Miriam left the room. He crossed to Byrne's chair, laid his coarse hand on the old man's shoulder, and said, not without a touch of sternness--
"I am at your service, sir."
He was obliged to speak in a louder tone of voice than usual, and that of itself annoyed him.