“Yes, I did. Natural, isn’t it? I haven’t had a chance to for a month.” He made her turn so that he could look into her face. “You’re not looking right. Your eyes are big as saucers. What’s the matter? Too much gayety?”
“Yes, I think so, Daddy. I’m a little tired, that’s all. I need a rest.”
Her father examined her in silence for a moment, and then drew her down on a chair near him.
“Jane, I’ve been thinking about you lately. We’ve all been so busy this winter, you and mother, with your dances and the opera, and I with business, that I’m afraid we’ve been drifting apart. I don’t like it. You don’t ever come in here to see me the way you used to.”
“I haven’t had time,” she evaded.
“That isn’t it, daughter. I know. It’s something else. Something has come between us. I’ve felt it and I feel it still.”
She opened her eyes wide and looked at him and then looked away.
“That’s the truth and you know it, daughter. Something has come between us. I’ve missed those talks with you. They used to keep me in touch with the gentler side of life, sort of humanized me somehow, made me a little softer, a little gentler the next day. I’ve wanted you often, Jane, but I didn’t know how to say so. And so I got along without you. You’ve never quite forgiven me, Jane?”
Jane was pulling at the laces of her tea-gown with thumb and forefinger, but she didn’t look up as she asked,
“Forgiven you for what, Daddy?”