"As soon as he
gets well again, I must see to getting him somewhere where he can have a
chance to profit by what we have done for him."
"Papa," said Sophie, sitting up, and stroking the old gentleman's white
beard, "you don't know how happy it makes me to hear you think that to
love and to be loved will be good for him."
"So anxious to get rid of him, eh?"
"No; oh! papa, don't you see? it's because--because I _never_ want to
get rid of him!" and Sophie, catching her father suddenly around the
neck, hid her face in his linen coat-collar.
The professor, his features discharged of all expression, sat
stone-still, looking straight before him. Had Death been embracing him,
instead of his daughter, he could hardly have been struck more
motionless. Existence, spiritual as well as physical, seemed for a space
to have come to a stand-still.
By-and-by, startled at his silence, Sophie raised her head and looked at
him with alarmed eyes. With an effort, he turned his face toward her,
and smiled as naturally as though his mouth had been frozen.
"I'm an old man, you see, my dear: a surprise like this makes me feel
it," he made shift to say, in an uncertain voice. "So--you're engaged to
each other?"
"We're waiting for you to say we may be, papa.
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