“How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway. "He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. "Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan.
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