He had taken her two hands, and now perceived that he was crushing a
paper between them.

"This letter?"

"Yes--Mr. Haskett has written--I mean his lawyer has written."

Waythorn felt himself flush uncomfortably. He dropped his wife's
hands.

"What about?"

"About seeing Lily. You know the courts--"

"Yes, yes," he interrupted nervously.

Nothing was known about Haskett in New York. He was vaguely supposed
to have remained in the outer darkness from which his wife had been
rescued, and Waythorn was one of the few who were aware that he had
given up his business in Utica and followed her to New York in order
to be near his little girl. In the days of his wooing, Waythorn had
often met Lily on the doorstep, rosy and smiling, on her way "to see
papa."

"I am so sorry," Mrs. Waythorn murmured.

He roused himself. "What does he want?"

"He wants to see her. You know she goes to him once a week."