That's 'er pride; but I've got my pride too; the pride of a father's 'art." "What--what's she crying about ?" inquired Mr.Silk, in an unsteady voice.
"She's been looking poorly for some time," continued the veracious Mr.
Kybird, "and crying.

When I tell you that part o' the wedding-dress wot she was making 'ad to be taken away from 'er because o' the tears she dropped on it, you may 'ave some idea of wot things are like.

She's never forgot you, Teddy, and it was on'y your quick temper that day that made 'er take on with young Nugent.

She's got a temper, too, but she give 'er love once, and, being my daughter, she couldn't give it agin." He stole a glance at his listener.

Mr.Silk, very pale and upright, was standing on the hearthrug, shaking all over with nervous excitement.
Twice he tried to speak and failed.
"That's 'ow it is, Teddy," sighed Mr.Kybird, rising as though to depart.
"I've done my dooty.