FROM THE LIFE
He glanced at her quickly and appraised her set expression as a girlish look of high tragedy. He said, with cheerfulness: "I suppose he thinks the old ship is sinking. I imagine we'll disappoint him there. I'm not done yet."
"Father," she said, in an unexpected voice, "I want to go away."
He sat down. He asked, "What has happened?"
She replied, simply: "I'm not happy here. I want to go away."
"Well, my dear," he temporized, with a patronizing suavity, "you're to do whatever you wish. We're going to see that you are happy. What's the trouble?"
But suavity did not succeed. She shook her head, looking away from him as if to evade his insincerity. "I can't talk of it. I want to go away."
He tried another trick. He asked, "Are you deserting me, too?"
She kept her eyes averted.
"You're all I have," he said.
She did not reply. He got up from his desk, crossed the room to her, and took her hand paternally. His face did not betray his gratification in feeling her missing ring on her finger. He said: "I don't want to ask you anything that you don't want me to know. But—perhaps I could help."
She turned away from him to hide her tears. "No," she said, choked. "No. It doesn't matter."
"You've been disappointed in some one?"
[ 120 ]
