The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. ’” “Yes?” “I think—yes, I went on in a pleasing blend of the casual and sotto voce, ‘The fact of it is, sir, I happen to be your son-in-law, Capes. ’ ‘I’m that sorry, miss,’ Kimble said glumly.
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