Page:That Royle Girl (Balmer).pdf/33

 times he had been a New Yorker; at other times, he had the tradition and accent of a Virginian or a Louisianan. Somewhere he had picked up an education in strange languages; for when he was drunk, he recited resounding verses which he said were of the poets Virgil and Homer.

He would tell her nothing of them when he was sober, but she looked them up in an encyclopedia at a hotel. She believed that though he was not her father, he had named her Joan and that her mother alone was responsible for "Daisy." She never felt sure that he had told her the truth on her twelfth birthday; and when she doubted it, she did not know whether or not she wanted to believe him her father.

She had pulled out the couch in the large room and was transforming it into a bed when she heard his key scrape at the lock. He entered, removing his gray hat with a flourish.

"Glor'yus evening, m'dear."

"Glorious, Dads," she replied, and each looked the other over to see the effect of the day.

He was erect and distinguished-appearing as usual in his new, excellently tailored and never-to-be-paid-for clothes. He wore a gray top-coat, unbuttoned, over a gray English walking suit. His hair and mustache were precisely trimmed, as usual. He dyed his hair, but did it so cleverly that it was seldom suspected; he always left a few gray hairs to increase his air of distinction. He had new, gray gloves and an impressive malacca stick which he swung slightly.

"Long day, m'dear?" he inquired, none too steady in voice but with his perceptions keen.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Office?"

"Yes."