“Peter!—Peter!” Clarinda exclaimed.
“Oh, there is something else. Another thing that I found. You might imagine I had difficulty in finding a new father for you, but that was not a circumstance to this thing I accomplished. I spent days in the search. I wandered from one end of the town to the other. I hunted with infinite care. At times I became completely discouraged and almost gave up in despair; but persistency is not a jewel, it is a diadem.”
Clarinda’s father was amused and Clarinda was consumed with impatience.
“As I have said,” he went on, “this last effort caused me great trouble, but I found it. And now, Clarinda, what do you think it was?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Tell us? It must have been important if you went to all that trouble.”
“Listen carefully, both of you. It is a matter vital to your happiness, Clarinda. I—found—for Mrs. Clarinda Thorbald—a husband—who would think more of her and love her more and would fill her life with greater content—and—”
Clarinda sprang from the divan. Her face was flushed, and she turned upon Peter. She put her hand over his mouth, and Peter struggled for an instant and then laughed loudly.
“Peter—Peter!” she exclaimed. “You are perfectly horrid. I don’t believe anything is sacred to you. Every bit of pleasure I might have had is destroyed. I hate your old house.”
Clarinda went out of the room and closed the door with a crash behind her.
The two men looked at each other; after a few moments the old man said laconically: