“Afraid of me?”
“Oh, no! As if that were possible! But there are some things one can’t say always and anywhere. I could ask you questions which I couldn’t put to anybody else—in your study, sitting by your side on a stool, when it is nearly dark.”
“It is nearly dark now, Joan; and there is room for you by my side.”
“But this is not your study,” Joan replied archly, taking the offered position.
“We may make it so for the moment, to all intents and purposes. Shut your eyes, and picture the bookshelves around. What were you going to ask me?”
A break, and then—“I can’t now, father. Some other time.”
“My dear, if a thing has to be said or done, there is no time like the present.”
“Yes—but—”
“But my little woman is shy?”
“I suppose I am,” said Joan. “Some things are so difficult to speak about, even to the people one loves most and best. I should like to turn my heart inside out to you, if I could do it without talking. Having to put everything into words is hard. One word is too strong, and another is not strong enough, and no two people mean exactly alike by the same word.”