“Oh, that is nice,” she murmured.
“Maimie, we owe a great deal to you,” I said.
“Don’t say so, please. I could not let the wrong go on. But poor father—it does seem sad.”
“To any one that loves him.”
“I’m afraid I don’t—much,—not real love, I mean. Only for his own sake I am sorry. But I don’t think he will want me again.”
“He has given you up,” I said.
“Yes, I hope so. And, after all, I could do nothing for him, even if we were together. He will not hear a word of what is right,—and I think he would soon try to make me do wrong. He frightens me sometimes, with things he says. Oh, he has gone downhill terribly since mother’s death. It would be dreadful to live with him always. But I am glad I came here.”
“It has been a happy thing for us.”
“Yes, I wanted that. I soon found out what poor father was after! How he could!”
“Did he tell you, Maimie?”