der touched her, in spite of her
preoccupation, and she glanced about the once familiar room with a
wistful kindling of the eyes.

"I used to come up here often, did n't I?" she mused. "And father knew
where to find me when he had finished his smoke and talk with the boys.
There 's the same old picture of the Alhambra you used to tell me
stories about." Her defiance was gone now, though her purpose still
held. "But I did n't come to see you this time; I shall--soon. I came
to see some one else."

"My dear child," he said, fixing her with a gaze of deep concern, "I am
old enough to be your father, am I not?"

She nodded silently, waiting for the lecture she felt she so well
deserved. Yet it was characteristic of their relationship that she
experienced no serious apprehension; she was too well aware of his
understanding and indulgence for that.

"But still," he continued, "I lack a few years of reaching the imposing
longevity of Methuselah."

She put out her hands in impulsive protest against this reference to
their difference in age, understanding the pain that underlay his
effort at jocularity. He took and retained them in his own, and his
colour deepened.

"This is a most embarrassing demonstration of affection," he commented.
"If any one should suddenly open the door, I fear his surprise would be
very great. Now, is it not fortunate that my room is opposite that of
my young colleague, rather than the room of some other person less well
disposed, less a friend, I may say, to you both?"

"I 'm sure it is," she answered. "If any one else had been living in
this room, I would never have ventured"--

"Exactly. No one else, perhaps, has had my opportunities for
understanding you. Now, on the basis of our long acquaintance, and
because of my deep attachment to yourself and your father, I wish to
urge you to reconsider your intention of making any other call this
afternoon."

"I shall have to use my own judgement," she returned, without
flinching. "I am in great perplexity--you don't know."

"I do know," he retorted, "and perhaps the time has come for me to tell
you so. A wanderer like myself comes across many unexpected things in
the course of his peregrinations. Shall I tell you how, while looking
for some records of my family in an old New York church, secretly
indulging the genealogical mania I am wont to deride, I lighted upon a
record I did not think to find--the record of the marriage of one w