He laughed heartily, his whole body shaking like some huge jelly.

"Well, old Noel Hasluck's not exactly a fool," he assented, "but I'd
like myself better if I could talk about something else than business,
and didn't drop my aitches. And so would my little gell."

"You have a daughter?" asked my mother, with whom a child, as a bond
of sympathy with the stranger took the place assigned by most women to
disrespectful cooks and incompetent housemaids.

"I won't tell you about 'er. But I'll just bring 'er to see you now
and then, ma'am, if you don't mind," answered Mr. Hasluck. "She don't
often meet gentle-folks, an' it'll do 'er good."

My mother glanced across at my father, but the man, intercepting her
question, replied to it himself.

"You needn't be afraid, ma'am, that she's anything like me," he
assured her quite good-temperedly; "nobody ever believes she's my
daughter, except me and the old woman. She's a little lady, she is.
Freak o' nature, I call it."

"We shall be delighted," explained my mother.

"Well, you will when you see 'er," replied Mr. Hasluck, quite
contentedly.

He pushed half-a-crown into my hand, overriding my parents'
susceptibilities with the easy good-temper of a man accustomed to have
his way in all things.