When she had poured out her father's coffee, she took it round to him
and let her hand rest on his shoulder lovingly; but Jason had brought
in the post-bag and Mr. Heron was unlocking it and taking out the few
letters and papers, and seemed unconscious of the little anxious
caress.
"Are there any for me, father?" she asked, lingering beside him, and
she stretched out her hand to turn the envelopes on their right side;
but he stopped her quickly and swept them together, covering them with
his long hand--the shapely Heron hand.
"No, no," he said, almost sharply; "they are all for me; they are
business letters, booksellers' catalogues, sale catalogues--nothing of
importance."
She went back to her place and he waited until she had done so before
he began to open the letters. He merely glanced at some of them, but
presently he came to one which, after a sharp, quick look at her, he
read attentively; then he returned it to its envelope and, with a
secretive movement, slipped it into the pocket of his dressing-gown.
"Yes, nothing but catalogues and bills; you'd better take them, Ida;
the bills, at any rate.
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