"I find your name is Beryl. Sit down here, and answer a few
questions." He drew a chair near his own.

She shook her head:

"If you will excuse me, I prefer to stand."

In turning, so as to confront her fully, his elbow struck from the
table, a bronze paper-weight which rolled just beyond his reach.
Instinctively she stooped to pick it up, and in restoring it, her
fingers touched his. Leaning suddenly forward he grasped her wrists
ere she was aware of his intention, and drew her in front of him.

"Pardon me; but I want a good look at you."

His keen merciless eyes searched every feature, and he deliberately
lifted and examined the exquisitely shaped strong, white hands, the
dainty nails, and delicately rounded wrists with their violet
tracery of veins. It cost her an effort, to abstain from wrenching
herself free; but her mother's caution: "So much depends on the
impression you make upon father," girded her to submit to his
critical inspection.

A grim smile crossed his face, as he watched her.

"Blood often doubles, like a fox; sometimes 'crops back,' but never
lies. You can't play out your role of pauper; and you don't look a
probable outcome of destitution and hard work. Your hands would fit
much better in a metope of the Elgin Marbles, than in a wash-tub, or