"Why, Edith, are you so much interested in him that you want him to be ever present?" asked the father, noting the tremor of her hand.
"Oh, no, papa—not that much—yes—what am I saying, papa—I don't know," she replied, excitedly, turning her head at the sound of her mother approaching, which seemed to have been prearranged at that moment; but, of course, was not. Mrs. Jarney left, after seeing the interview was private.
"It appears to me, Edith, that you are acting strangely about this matter," said her father, beginning to be enlightened.
"Papa, I—I—love him," she whispered in his ear, as she put her cheek up to his to hide the blushes in her face, and to conceal his own countenance which she expected to see turn into a frown upon her at this unexpected answer. "Papa, you will forgive me, won't you?—yes, you will. It is my heart, dear papa—I cannot help it—do forgive me?" she went on, with her eyes filled with tears of happiness and weakness and misery over her uncontrollable feelings.
"Let me see your face, Edith?" said her father, making an effort to turn his head, which she held pressed to her own.
"No, no; I won't papa, till you say you will forgive me," she answered, kissing him.
"To keep peace, Edith, I will forgive you; let me see your face?"
"There!" she exclaimed, suddenly releasing him, and standing off, with tear stains marking through her flushes, and her hair tousled by the performance.
"I believe you," he said, beholding her in a state of mixed emotions; "but I am not yet ready to approve of your selection."
Her heart sank at this answer, and she sank to the floor by his side. Throwing one arm over his knee, and her head upon her arm, she burst into a fit of passionate grief that shook her frame.