He looked about the room, and at length seated himself; his eyes were fixed in a direction away from Marian.
'I suppose you had dinner somewhere?' Marian asked, after catching a glimpse of his worn, colourless face.
'Oh, I had a mouthful of something. It doesn't matter.'
It seemed as if he found some special pleasure in assuming this tone of martyrdom just now. At the same time he was becoming more absorbed in thought.
'Shall I have something brought up for you, father?'
'Something--? Oh no, no; on no account.'
He rose again impatiently, then approached his desk, and laid a hand on the telegram. Marian observed this movement, and examined his face; it was set in an expression of eagerness.
'You have nothing more to say, then?' He turned sharply upon her.
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