He had a fair mustache, a high forehead scowling over near-sighted blue eyes, and stood with a careless slouch of shoulders in a gray coat.
"Good-morning," he began.

Then he stopped short when he saw Ellen in her tall chair staring shyly around at him through her soft golden mist of hair.

"What child is that ?" he demanded; but Cynthia with a sharp cry sprang to him, and fairly pulled him out of the room, and closed the door.
Then Ellen heard voices rising higher and higher, and Cynthia say, in a voice of shrill passion: "I cannot, Lyman.

I cannot give her up.

You don't know what I have suffered since George married and took little Robert away.