"His income is insufficient just at present," said Hélène, "and it will be until next year. The marriage cannot take place till then. I am sorry."
"Some time next winter, eh? That's a long time, Hélène; so many things may happen," said Mr. Stanton thoughtfully.
"What could happen?" asked Hélène in surprise. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know; I'm nervous and apprehensive. I want to see you married and settled," replied her father almost peevishly, as if he didn't want to go into explanations. "I've a curious notion that I want to see you married and settled. It's a—a—my anxiety for you, Hélène," added Mr. Stanton, forcing a smile.
"You're very kind," repeated Hélène. She did not understand her father in the least. He seemed to be afraid of something, his manner was distinctly apprehensive. She moved slowly toward the door, deep in thought.
"Are you going?" asked Mr. Stanton.
"My music master is waiting for me," replied Hélène.
"Your music master? Oh, yes, you said you'd taken up your studies again."
Hélène smiled. "You can hardly call it taking up my studies," she said. "Herr Von Barwig just—so to speak—goes over; I hardly know how to describe it. I think he tries to improve my technique."
Was it imagination or had her father turned ashen pale? He looked at her, barely able to speak; he seemed to have received an awful shock and he was gasping for breath. What had happened? There was a pause during which Hélène wondered why she had not noticed before how pale and ill her father looked, and how his hands trembled.