He was standing in the doorway, uncertainly twirling his hat in nervous hands, and looking even more harassed than usual, when Belinda went down to him.
"I don't suppose——" he began.
"She's here," interrupted Belinda.
The father's face flushed swiftly.
"And she's all right, only I'm afraid she's going to be ill from the excitement. She's very much ashamed and very much disillusioned, Mr. Wilson. I think she's had her lesson, and I don't think I'd scold much if——"
There was an odd moisture on the glasses which Mr. Wilson removed from his nose and wiped with scrupulous care; and he cleared his voice several times before he spoke.
"I won't scold, Miss Carewe. I guess I'm a good deal to blame. She didn't have any mother, and I was pretty busy, and nobody paid much attention to what she was doing and reading and thinking. I just gave her money and thought I'd done all that was necessary; but I expect the carpet business could have got along without me occasionally, and I could have known my girl a little better."
They climbed the stairs together, but Belinda left him at his daughter's door.
When she went up, later, with the doctor Mr. Wilson looked more at ease in the world than usual, and Adelina's face was cheerful, though grotesquely swollen from much crying.
"Papa and I are going to Europe for the summer, Miss Carewe," she called out excitedly. Then, as she saw the doctor, her dramatic habit reasserted itself, and she fell into one of her most cherished death-scene poses, looking as limp and forlorn as circumstances and a lack of rehearsal would permit.