"Your bearing and your words, Don Martin, are such I should have looked for in you," he remarked.
And whose death comes so opportunely for thy rise, Don Alvar?
Mr. Don looks into the greyness from which this voice comes, and he sees his son.
Mr. Don rises, wincing, and Dick also is at once on his feet, full of compunction.
Mrs. Don comes in, as beautiful as ever, but a little aggrieved.
The old greasy is the jacket, and Mr. Don obediently gets into it.
Evidently Dick is the taller, for Mr. Don has to look up to him.
Mrs. Don says, and, without a word of reproach, she goes away.
Oh, Mr. Don—' She goes to him like a child, and he soothes and pets her.
In the better light Mr. Don is now able to read his paper if he chooses.