Outside she hesitated again, then she went in.
To her amazement her father was sitting, just as he had always sat, at his
table. He looked up when she entered, there was no sign upon him of any
trouble. His face was very white, stone-white, and it seemed to her that
for months past the colour had been draining from it, and now at last all
colour was gone. A man wearing a mask. She could fancy that he would put
up his hands and suddenly slip it from him and lay it down upon the table.
The eyes stared through it, alive, coloured, restless.
"Well, Joan, what is it?"
She stammered, "Nothing, father. I only wanted to see--whether--that--"
"Yes? Is any one wanting to see me?"
"No--only some one told me that you...I thought--"
"You heard that I chastised a ruffian in the town? You heard correctly. I
did. He deserved what I gave him."
A little shiver shook her.
"Is that all you want to know?"
"Isn't there anything, father, I can do?"
"Nothing--except leave me just now. I'm very busy. I have letters to
write."
She went out. She stood in the hall, her hands clasped together.
Pages:
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672