BLANCHE
what had been said. No voice outside had penetrated to that seclusion where his mind dreamed. He had simply come to the end of a phrase of thought, and now was preparing to make a transition to another. He gave his chair a gentle scrape backward and closed his book. What arrested him was the sharpness of Carron's involuntary movement forward. Rader mildly surveyed the young man's aspect of protest against thus being cavalierly deserted without apology and without a word. Perception struggled around to the fact that something was expected of him, something that he had promised. He looked at his daughter. His eyes rested upon her with something as human as affection. "Are you going to do anything in particular this morning, Blanche?" he asked.
"I'm going to help mother with the up-stairs cleaning."
"Oh!" He seemed to suffer a drop of inspiration.
She looked inquiringly. "What is it?"
"Mr. Carron," Rader explained slowly, "would like to see the country a little. I was thinking perhaps you might show him around."
"I'm so sorry—" she turned apologetic to the young man. "But, perhaps I can this afternoon if you would care to?"
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