Tom's features wore an expression of virtuous
indignation which puzzled me, and evidently frightened the little
girl. He locked the door, and walked unsteadily towards us. He seemed
surprised to see me there, and his features relaxed into a bland
civility.
'This is (hiccup) Master Aylwin, Winifred,' he said.
The child looked at me again with the same smile. Her alarm had fled.
'This is my little daughter Winifred,' said Tom, with a pompous bow.
I was astonished. I never knew that Wynne had a daughter, for
intimate as he and I had become, he had actually never mentioned his
daughter before.
'My _only_ daughter,' Tom repeated.
He then told me, with many hiccups, that, since her mother's death
(that is to say from her very infancy), Winifred had been brought up
by an aunt in Wales. 'Quite a lady, her aunt is,' said Tom proudly,
'and Winifred has come to spend a few weeks with her father.'
He said this in a grandly paternal tone--a tone that seemed meant to
impress upon her how very much obliged she ought to feel to him for
consenting to be her father; and, judging from the look the child
gave him, she did feel very much obliged.
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