There's
the door, and good morning to you!"
The door opened, and a young man, looking pale and dismayed, came
out quickly, and at once left the house. Behind him came the last
speaker. At the sight of the waiting child he stood still, and the
expression of his face changed from sour annoyance to annoyed
surprise.
"Eh? Well?" he exclaimed, looking closely at Ida, his eye-brows
contracting.
"I have a letter for Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, sir."
"Well, give it here. Who's it from?"
"Mrs. Starr, sir."
"Who's Mrs. Starr? Come in here, will you?"
His short and somewhat angry tone was evidently in some degree the
result of the interview that had just closed, but also pretty
clearly an indication of his general manner to strangers. He let the
child pass him, and followed her into the room with the letter in
his hand. He did not seem able to remove his eyes from her face.
Ida, on her side, did not dare to look up at him. He was a massively
built, grey-headed man of something more than sixty. Everything
about him expressed strength and determination, power alike of body
and mind. His features were large and heavy, but the forehead would
have become a man of strong intellect; the eyes were full of
astonishing vital force, and the chin was a physiognomical study, so
strikingly did its moulding express energy of character.
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