said a word or two; and he nodded, that was all.”
She became silent. John, racked by doubts as to whether he should say more of Sidney or still hold his peace, sat rubbing the back of one hand with the other and looking about the room.
“Father,” Clara resumed presently, “what became of that child at Mrs. Peckover’s, that her grandfather came and took away? Snowdon; yes, that was her name; Jane Snowdon.”
“You remember they went to live with somebody you used to know,” John replied, with hesitation. “They’re still in the same house.”
“So she’s grown up. Did you ever hear about that old man having a lot of money?”
“Why, my dear, I never heard nothing but what them Peckovers talked at the time. But there was a son of his turned up as seemed to have some money. He married Mrs. Peckover’s daughter.”
Clara expressed surprise.
“A son of his? Not the girl’s father?”
“Yes; her father. I don’t know nothing about his history. It’s for him, or partly for
