"Very true. My nights have been sleepless for the last few weeks. I have heard that dreary sounding chime in the hall clock ring from midnight till dawn. But my tooth is better to-night, thank you. I have no pain, so there is every hope that I shall have a good night's rest."
"I am glad of that, my dear," said Edermont in a softer tone than was usual with him. "I would be fond of you, Dora, if you would let me. Remember, all these years I have stood in the place of a father to you."
"I do not forget that, Mr. Edermont," answered Dora kindly; "you have been goodness itself. The parents I have lost could not have been kinder to me."
"Perhaps not so kind," said Edermont, sitting on the chair in front of his desk. "I need not talk to you about your parents, Dora."
"Why not, Mr. Edermont? I should like to know----"
"A great many things," interrupted the old man gloomily; "but for reasons of my own, which you may learn some day, I am not prepared to gratify your curiosity; and after all," he added in a significant tone, "it would do you no good to hear the story."
"It would do me this much good," said Dora spiritedly: "I should learn the obstacle which is a bar to my marriage with Allen."
"What would be the use of your knowing the obstacle, Dora? You will never get rid of it--take my word for that. Now good-night."
"Good-night," replied Dora, thinking it useless to argue further.
"I think you might kiss me before you go," grumbled Edermont. "I stand in the place of your father."