"You must be brave," my wife said sympathetically. "Your father will be better soon, and you can go about again."
"Oh, but he won't," the girl flashed in. "The last time there was an operation it was weeks and months before he was better. We had an awful time, stuck in the house in constant attendance upon him. My complexion has never been the same since, with late hours and unhealthy invalid atmosphere." She began to cry again.
"An operation! What's the matter with your father?" I said sharply.
"Oh, I don't know; he is always complaining." She turned from me. "And it's to be on the night of your party, the doctor says. Of all the nights, to pick out that one night; but it's just my fate. I had my dress made and everything."
"Never mind, Agnes," said my wife, comforting her. "We will have another party when your father is well again, especially for you."
Agnes smiled a wan smile. She was certainly a pretty girl, when the habitual look of discontent left her face.
