"
"I must take my god-daughter in hand, or she will be ruined body and
soul," observed Malcolm severely. "Babs is already a domestic
tyrant, and screams the house down if any of her fads and fancies
are resisted. I am thinking of writing a series of essays on
degenerate and irresponsible parents, and the cruelty of modern
education in the nursery, which out-Herods Herod." Of course they
all laughed at this idea, and then David Carlyon crossed the room to
shake hands with Malcolm and to introduce his father.
The two men were curiously alike. The Rev. Rupert Carlyon was an
older, shabbier, and more careworn David; but there was the same
broad, intellectual brow, the same bright intelligence of
expression, and their voices were so strangely similar that if
Malcolm had closed his eyes he could not have distinguished between
them; they both spoke with the same quickness, and in the same
clipping fashion.
Malcolm noticed before the evening was over that David Carlyon
looked unusually pale and tired, though he seemed in excellent
spirits. Dinah made the same remark to his father.
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