had been too anxious to show her affection for her father, too full of
worry over what she had, that day, to tell him, to remember M'riar.

"_Dear_ M'riarrr!" she said softly. "Dear M'riarrr! We love you. Don't
we father--love her?"

"Yah; sure we love her," Kreutzer answered heartily and patted the
child's head. "We love her much."

"My heye!" said M'riar, happily, her sorrows quickly vanishing. "'Ow
much nicer New York his than Lunnon!"

It was with the grace of an old cavalier that Kreutzer led his
daughter to the table, and called her attention to the little feast he
had prepared.

The small display of goodies would have seemed poor enough had she
compared it to the everyday "light luncheons" at the Vanderlyns', but
she did not so compare it. Back to the old days of modest plenty which
they had known in London, to the days of almost actual need which they
had known in New York City, went her mind, for its comparison, and
thus she found the feast magnificent. With real fervor she exclaimed
above it. Her pleasure was so genuine that the old flute-player was
delighted. "How splendid!" she cried honestly.

Having placed her in her chair he began, at once, in the confusion of
his joy, to cut the cake, ignoring, utterly, the chicken. She did not
call attention to his absent-mindedness.

"It looks almost like a wedding cake!" said she and laughed--but then,