He saw a young lady, quite unknown to him, perched upon her luggage in a sitting-room of his house.
"You wanted to see me ?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied, getting on to her feet.

She looked at him gravely.

"I am Sylvia," she said.
A smile, rather like her own smile, hesitated about his mouth.
"And-- "Who is Sylvia?
What is she?
Her trunks do not proclaim her!" he said.

"Beyond that Sylvia has apparently come to stay, I am rather in the dark." "You are Mr.Garratt Skinner ?" "Yes." "I am your daughter Sylvia." "My daughter Sylvia!" he exclaimed in a daze.

Then he sat down and held his head between his hands.
"Yes, by George.