The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. The afternoon had passed now into twilight. "Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. But at least it gave her more time. Capes most trying. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. . . "No, Rollo; not this afternoon. He envied her a little. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery.
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