Lady Rose’s Daughter

I

“Hullo! No!⁠—Yes!⁠—upon my soul, it is Jacob! Why, Delafield, my dear fellow, how are you?”

So saying⁠—on a February evening a good many years ago⁠—an elderly gentleman in evening dress flung himself out of his cab, which had just stopped before a house in Bruton Street, and hastily went to meet a young man who was at the same moment stepping out of another hansom a little farther down the pavement.

The pleasure in the older man’s voice rang clear, and the younger met him with an equal cordiality, expressed perhaps through a manner more leisurely and restrained.