Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns. She found no ready reply to that, and he went on: “This music is the food of love. When she told him that the natives called her The Dawn Pearl, his delight was unbounded.
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