"I can't have you spoiling father," reproved Lola gently. "Besides German pan-cakes are not supposed to be eaten for breakfast."
"She knows no more about German food," said the Doctor, "than an Irishman's pig! You shall make me one of your pan-cakes to-night."
Maria smiled gratefully at him, and leaving the apartment ran down stairs to the letter-box in the hall, returning a moment later with the morning mail, which she put beside Lola's plate.
"Four letters," said Lola, glancing over them. "One for me, a bill! Two for you, father." She pushed them across the cloth. "And, Maria! Oh, Maria! This is for you. Oh, Maria! You're blushing. Who do you suppose it's from," she teased, as Maria stepped forward eagerly and took the letter.
"I guess, Miss," said Maria in confusion, "I guess it's from a friend of mine."
Lola looked after her, as she hurried out of the room, the precious letter clutched tightly in her hand.
"Poor girl! That is from her sweetheart, the one she calls Mr. Barnes, and she can't read it."
"I thought you were to teach her," remarked her father, as he helped himself to a second piece of toast.
"I am trying my best," answered Lola, "but she never had a chance before, that's what makes it so hard for her now."
"She has done wonders since you found her, my dear girl. She has caught the spirit of this great New York, and she is growing very fast."
"Hello!" he exclaimed, as he opened the first of his letters. "From Paul Crossett."
Lola looked up, surprised and pleased, as her father hastily read the brief note, and continued.
"He is here, at last! Here in New York! And he is coming up this morning."
"That's fine!" exclaimed Lola, her face reflecting her father's pleasure. "I have heard so much about him all my life, and now I am really going to see him."
"I, myself," said the Doctor, "have only seen him once in ten years, only twice in twenty. He is a great man now, rich and famous, but he was a scamp when I first knew him." He laughed softly as his mind travelled back to the time when he and this successful French physician were boys together at the University.
"How was it?" inquired Lola, "that a Frenchman was your chum at Heidelberg?"
"He was," her father replied, "even as a boy, a cynic, a philosopher, and he amused me. He had a big mind, and a big heart, and I loved him."