A voice suddenly answered her as though he were listening on the other
side of the door. "No, no. I want no dinner."
She went down again, told Gladys that she would eat something, then sat in
the lonely dining-room swallowing her soup and cutlet in the utmost haste.
Something was terribly wrong. Her father was covering all the rest of her
view--the Jubilee, her mother, even Johnny. He was in great trouble, and
she must help him, but she felt desperately her youth, her inexperience,
her inadequacy.
She waited again, when she had finished her meal, wondering what she had
better do. Oh! how stupid not to know instantly the right thing and to
feel this fear when it was her own father!
She went half-way upstairs, and then stood listening. No sound. Again she
waited outside his door. With trembling hand she turned the handle. He
faced her, staring at her. On his left temple was a big black bruise, on
his forehead a cut, and on his left cheek a thin red mark that looked like
a scratch.
"Father, you're hurt!"
"Yes, I fell down--stumbled over something, coming up from the river.
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