"Hush, child, and listen. The position of both of you is assured; a peaceful and more prosperous fortune for me! The few trifles I ask for: my snuff, a glass of port--one only--my cutlet, a suit of clothes when I desire a change, without an insulting reference to an old bill, the deference of tradespeople, freedom from debt. Claire, at last, at last!" "Oh, papa!" cried the girl, with the tears welling over and dropping slowly from her beautiful eyes, while her sweet mouth seemed all a-tremble, and her agitated hands were stretched out to clasp the old man's arm. But he waved her off. "Don't, don't, Claire," he said quickly. "See there. I do detest to have my coat spotted. It is so foolish and weak." Claire smiled--a sweet, sad smile--as she drew a clean cambric handkerchief from the pocket of her apron, shook it out, showing a long slit and a series of careful darns, removed the pearly drop before it had time to soak the cloth, and exclaimed: "Then the town has conferred a salary upon you?" "Pah! As if I would condescend to take it, girl!" cried the old man, drawing himself up more stiffly. "A legacy?" The Master of the Ceremonies shook his head. "A commission for Morton?" "No, no, no." "Then--" The old man waved his cane with a graceful flourish, placed it in the hand that held his snuff-box, opened the latter, and, after tapping it, took a pinch, as if it were a matter calling forth long study of deportment to perform, closed the box with a loud snap, and said, in a haughty, affected tone: "Half an hour since, on a well-filled parade, I encountered His Royal Highness and a group of friends." He paused, and took out a silk handkerchief, embroidered here and there with purple flowers by his child. "And then--" There was a flourish of the handkerchief, and the flicking away of imaginary specks from the tightly-buttoned coat. "His Royal Highness--" "Yes, papa," said Claire piteously, as he looked at her as if asking her attention. At that moment Morton entered, looking weary and discontented; but, seeing his father's peculiar look, he checked the words he was about to say, and watched his face as he gave his handkerchief another flourish, replaced it, and took his cane from his left hand to twirl it gracefully. "His Royal Highness shook hands with me." "Oh!" exclaimed Morton, while Claire's brow grew more rugged. "Shook hands with you, father?" said Morton eagerly. "And asked me for a pinch of snuff." There was a dead silence in the room as Claire clasped her hands together and trembled, and seemed about to speak, but dared not; while Morton screwed up his mouth to whistle, but refrained, looking half contemptuously at his father the while. "Fortune has thrown a magnificent chance in our way." "I say, dad, what do you mean with your magnificent chance?" "I have hopes, too, for Claire. I cannot say much yet, but I have great hopes," he continued, ignoring the question of his son. "Oh, papa!"