When he saw Tavernake and Beatrice, he
stopped short. Then he held out both hands, which Beatrice
immediately seized. There were tears in his eyes, tears running
down his cheeks. He sat down heavily in the chair which
Tavernake was holding for him.
"Beatrice," he exclaimed, "why, this is most affecting! You have
come here to have supper with your old father. You trust me,
then?"
"Absolutely," she replied, still clasping his hands. "If you
give me away to Elizabeth, it will be the end. The next time I
shall never be found."
"For some days," he assured her, "I have known exactly where you
were to be found. I have never spoken of it. You are safe. My
meals up here," he added, with a little sigh, "have been sad
feasts. To-night we will be cheerful. Some quails, I think,
quails and some Clicquot for you, my dear. You need it. Ah,
this is a happiness indeed!"
"You know Mr. Tavernake, father," she remarked, after he had
given a somewhat lengthy order to the waiter.
"I met and talked with Mr. Tavernake here the other night," the
professor admitted, with condescension.
"Mr. Tavernake was very good to me at a time when I needed help,"
Beatrice told him.
The professor grasped Tavernake's hands.
"You were good to my child," he said, "you were good to me.
Waiter, three cocktails immediately," he ordered, turning round.
"I must drink your health, Mr. Tavernake--I must drink your
health at once."
Tavernake leaned forward towards Beatrice.
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