But Sybil's laugh was not hearty. She was thinking of her father, whose coming she waited anxiously; and when at last they were out on the porch, alone in the sweet June dusk, she, leaning back against the railing, said, suddenly: "Dada!"
John Lawton started at the word. In an instant his memory presented him the picture of his handsome, vexed young wife as she fretted over the dark-eyed baby's persistent use of "dada" instead of papa; and his blue old eyes were very tender as they looked at the speaker expectantly.
"I went over to call upon Miss Morrell to-day."
"Did you?" he asked, in a pleased tone. "I'm sure you found her a charming companion?"
"She?" exclaimed Sybil. "She is the best, she is the kindest woman in the whole world!"
"It's a habit with you, dear, to indulge in somewhat hasty conclusions. And you are a little extravagant, too, are you not? I have heard some very pretty stories of Miss Morrell's kindness to the people about here, but 'the whole world'?"
He smiled indulgently, and was going on to complete his remark, when, noticing the tightly clasped hands, the eager manner of his daughter, he paused, and, quick as a flash, she flung herself into the story of the day. Once only he moved, once only he spoke. When first she declared her intention of going on the stage he cried "Sybil!" then clasped his hand about his lips and chin and said no other word.
She was passionately portraying their hopeless, friendless state, when he turned restlessly in his chair, and murmured: "Why doesn't Lena light the gas—the house looks so dreary?"
"Why? why?" cried Sybil. "Why, because there is no gas to light. The bill was not paid to-day! Oh! see—see, dear! Something must be done! And I'm the only one to do it, you know that!"
Faintly a groaned "Oh, God! Oh, God!" came to her ear, and she cried: "Don't misunderstand! Oh, dada, don't! There was no reproach in that! I only mean I'm so well and strong I ought to help, at least, myself!"