"Only to dinner! Great Cæsar, Helen—only to dinner!"
"Well, I can't help it, Burke. It just makes me mad to see you jump and run and be so pleased over just a dinner, when it ought to be for every dinner and all the time; and you know it."
"But, Helen, it isn't the dinner. It's that—that dad cares." The man's voice softened, and became not quite steady. "That maybe he's forgiven me. That he's going to be now the—the old dad that I used to know. Oh, Helen, I've missed him so! I've—"
But his wife interrupted tartly.
"Well, I should think 'twas time he did forgive you—and I'm not saying I think there was anything to forgive, either. There wouldn't have been, if he hadn't tried to interfere with what was our own business—yours and mine."
There was a brief silence. Burke, looking very white and stern, had got to his feet, and was moving restlessly about the room.
"Did you think he was—giving in?" asked Helen at last.
"He was very kind."
"What did you tell him?"