The young fellow laughed happily, and there was no shadow of doubt or of apprehension in his eyes. He had begun to walk up and down the room now, impatiently, as if he wanted to be off.
"Why didn't you claim her before you went off to nurse your uncle, Anthony? Uncertainty of that kind is hard on a girl."
"I did write. Not, indeed, to her, but to her father, and gave him a broad hint of the state of the case. I have often wondered he never sent me a word: he was such a good sort."
"He has been very ill, Anthony."
"Ill? My mother never told me."
"He was at death's door, but is out of danger; he must be getting strong again by this time."
"My poor little Pam—and all of them! They adore their father, and they had no one to help or comfort them!"
"Why didn't you write to Pamela herself?"
"My mother asked me not to till I came back. But now all that is over. I am going to her at once."
"You say you wrote to her father, Anthony? Do you know I have a kind of idea she said you had not written?"