“Felix! You’re waiting to see father! Are you ill?”
She put her hands upon his shoulders and studied his face with anxious scrutiny for an instant, until, yielding to the pressure of his arms, she sank upon his breast with a murmur of happy laughter.
“No, dearest, I’m not ill—you can see how perfectly well I look. It’s just a little nerve tire, I guess, and I want to ask Dr. Annister to prescribe a tonic for me. It’s nothing of any consequence.”
She drew back and studied his face again. Even her fascinated eyes began to see in it something different from the look of the man who had won her love so completely a year before. She was conscious of a little shiver, that meant, she knew not what, but kept her from yielding when he would press her again into his arms.
“I’m afraid—Felix, dear—I know you must be working too hard. That’s what’s the matter and that’s what makes you look—a little—strange. You are tired. You are doing such lots of work. And you mustn’t break down—now!” With another happy, loving little laugh she gave up and nestled against his shoulder, while he kissed her cheek and brow and lips.
“Felix!” she exclaimed, “I’m standing out bravely against that trip to Europe father is so determined I shall take with mother this summer. I won’t go and leave you. He hasn’t said so much about it lately, because he’s not well and mother is anxious about him. I’ve almost persuaded her that she ought not to leave him.”
She paused a moment, her face rosy with his caresses. Her eyes sought his and her voice sank to a whisper. “Felix, dear heart, if we could only go there alone together! Can’t we tell them and then just go away by ourselves?”
“I don’t think we’d better tell them yet. Your father seems to have become opposed to us, for some reason, and I’m trying to win him over. We must wait a little.”
“It’s only because he can’t bear to think of my marrying any one. He doesn’t want to give me up——”