Walker's expressed desire that nothing more might be said about it. But
Mrs Walker, like many other mothers, was apt to be more free in converse
with her daughter than she was with her son. While they were thus
talking the father came in from his office, and then the subject was
dropped. He was a man between fifty and sixty years of age, with grey
hair, rather short, and somewhat corpulent, but still gifted with that
amount of personal comeliness which comfortable position and the respect
of others will generally seem to give. A man rarely carries himself
meanly whom the world holds in high esteem.

'I am very tired, my dear,' said Mr Walker.

'You look tired. Come and sit down for a few minutes before you dress.
Mary, get your father's slippers.' Mary instantly ran to the door.

'Thanks, my darling,' said the father. And then he whispered to his
wife, as soon as Mary was out of hearing. 'I fear the unfortunate man is
guilty. I fear he is! I fear he is!'

'Oh, heavens! what will become of them?'

'What indeed? She has been with me today.'

'Has she? And what could you say to her?'

'I told her at first that I could not see her, and begged her not to
speak to me about it. I tried to make her understand that she should go
to someone else. But it was of no use.'

'And how did it end?'