There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. “I know. P. Brendon always comes home with me, and tonight both are away. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily. He had heard this talk before. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then.
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