"Pray, New Papa, what is it?"
The old gentlemen—so utterly guileless—was puzzled for an answer; but his ingenuity came to his relief at length.
"No, Adaly, your father does not write cheerfully,—certainly not; he speaks of the probable loss of his fortune."
Now Adèle, with her parsonage training, had really very little idea of fortune.
"That means I won't be rich, New Papa, I suppose. But I don't believe it; he will have money enough, I'm sure. It don't disturb me, New Papa,—not one whit."
The Doctor was so poor a hand at duplicity that he hardly knew what to say, but meantime was keeping his eye with the same dazed look upon the charming Adèle.
"You look so oddly, New Papa,—indeed you do! You have some sermon in your head, now haven't you, that I have broken in upon?—some sermon about—about—let us see."
And she moved toward his desk, where the letter of Maverick still lay unfolded.
The Doctor, lost in thought, did not observe her movement until she had the letter fairly in her hand; then he seized it with a suddenness of gesture that instantly caught the attention of Adèle.
A swift, deep color ran over her face.