"Sylvia, I am a very
poor man. Your mother, on the other hand, has some money."
"Oh, father, I shan't cost you much," she replied, eagerly. "I might
perhaps by looking after things save you money. I won't cost you much."
Garratt Skinner looked at her with a rueful smile.
"You look to me rather an expensive person to keep up," he said.
"Mother dressed me like this. It's not my choice," she said. "I let her
do as she wished. It did not seem to matter much. Really, if you will let
me stay, you will find me useful," she said, in a pathetic appeal.
"Useful?" said Garratt Skinner, suddenly. He again took stock of her, but
now with a scrutiny which caused her a vague discomfort. He seemed to be
appraising her from the color of her hair and eyes to the prettiness of
her feet, almost as though she was for sale, and he a doubtful purchaser.
She looked down on the carpet and slowly her blood colored her neck and
rose into her face. "Useful," he said, slowly. "Perhaps so, yes, perhaps
so." And upon that he changed his tone. "We will see, Sylvia. You must
stay here for the present, at all events. Luckily, there is a spare room.
I have some friends here staying to supper--just a bachelor's friends,
you know, taking pot-luck without any ceremony, very good fellows, not
polished, perhaps, but sound of heart, Sylvia my girl, sound of heart.
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