"What! Is that why your father comes?"
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't know! I thought he came—"
He rose to his feet and turned away, his thoughts atumble, a pang of parental pity gnawing at his heart; then he wheeled and faced her, asking, with a break in his husky voice:
"And at other times—what do you eat, then?"
She made a quaint, depreciating gesture toward the appointments of her breakfast table.
"Blackberries—an'—an' coffee made out of aco'ns."
Again the troubled conqueror turned away.
"Oh, it's a shame!" he muttered between his teeth. "A wicked shame!"
He stood for a moment, silently, till Virgie spoke and jarred him with another confidence.