Georgina had heard that very remark earlier in the day, also the answer given with a significant shrug of the shoulders:
“Oh, he has other fish to fry.”
The remarks had not annoyed her especially at the time, but they rankled now as she recalled them. They hurt until they took all the pleasure and satisfaction out of her beautiful day, just as the sun, going under a cloud, leaves the world bereft of all its shine and sparkle. She looked around, wishing it were time to go home.
Presently, Captain Burrell, having made the rounds of the room, came back to Georgina. He smiled at her so warmly that she wondered that she could have thought his face was stern.
“They tell me that you are Doctor Huntingdon’s little girl,” he said with a smile that went straight to her heart. “So I’ve come back to ask you all about him. Where is he now and how is he? You see I have an especial interest in your distinguished father. He pulled me through a fever in the Philippines that all but ended me. I have reason to remember him for his many, many kindnesses to me at that time.”
The flush that rose to Georgina’s face might naturally have been taken for one of pride or pleasure, but it was only miserable embarrassment at not being able to answer the Captain’s questions. She could not bear to confess that she knew nothing of her father’s whereabouts except the vague fact that he was somewhere in the interior of China, and that there had been no letter from him for months and that she had not seen him for nearly four years.
“He--he was well the last time we heard from him,” she managed to stammer. “But I haven’t heard anything lately. You know my mother isn’t home now. She went to Kentucky because my grandfather Shirley was hurt in an accident.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” was the answer in a cordial, sympathetic voice. “I hoped to have the pleasure of meeting her and I wanted Mrs. Burrell to know her, too. But I hope you’ll come over to the Inn and play with Peggy sometimes. We’ll be here another week.”
Georgina thanked him in her prettiest manner, but she was relieved when he passed on, and she was freed from the fear of any more embarrassing questions about her father. Yet her hand still tingled with the friendliness of his good-bye clasp, and she wished that she could know him better. As she watched him pass out of the door with Peggy holding his hand and swinging it as they walked, she thought hungrily:
“How good it must seem to have a father like _that_.”