Mr. Kybird sat biting his thumb-nail, then he looked up suddenly.
"'Melia," he said, with an outburst of desperate frankness, "'Melia is
crying 'er eyes out."

Mr. Silk, with a smothered exclamation, started up from his chair and
regarded him eagerly.

"If she knew I'd been 'ere," pursued Mr. Kybird, "she'd I don't know wot
she wouldn't do. 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. It was a 'ard thing to do, but I've done it."

"Do you mean," said Mr. Silk, recovering his voice at last, "do you mean
that Amelia would marry me after all?"