She smiled very faintly but said nothing. Somehow, it was hard to make conversation. Ruth was unusually pale, even for her. The eyes which followed that line of yellow lights were full of trouble.
"Tell me," he begged presently, "you have something on your mind, I am sure. There is nothing you are keeping from me?"
"Have I not enough," she asked, "to make me anxious?"
"Naturally," he admitted, "and yet, after all, you have only seen your father once in your life."
"But I am sure that I could have loved him so much," she murmured. "He seems to have come and gone in a dream."
"This morning's report was more hopeful," he reminded her. "There is every chance that he may live."
"All the time," she answered, fervently, "I am praying that he may. If he treated my mother badly, I am sure that he has suffered. I can't quite forget, either," she went on, "although that seems selfish, that when I come out of the hospital, even if all goes well, I may still be homeless."
He leaned over her.
"Ruth," he exclaimed, "what do you mean?"