He remembered her on his lap like a kitten.

How she had liked to cuddle there.
And she had liked to bite his hand, a curious habit in a child.

"I hurt daddy!" He could still recollect the gay little laugh with which she said that, looking up brightly into his face.
And here she was already grown, and like a light in the sober old house, fascinating while she disturbed him.

He liked to hear her high pitched voice, gossiping in Deborah's room or in her own dainty chamber chatting with the adoring maid who was dressing her to go out.

He loved her joyous thrilling laugh.