So long as she could remember, her father had never permitted her to sit at the table unless she came fully dressed. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago.
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