"I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. You will wonder why he did not hold the pearls until Father returned. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. He would refuse to listen and absolve her unshriven. It might be dangerous to thwart him. Set the boy free. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. Charcoal.
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