Helen looked up at her father, and smiled reproachfully.
“I was thinking about Dexter,” she said softly.
“A confounded ungrateful young dog! Taken him from that wretched place, clothed him, offered him a home of which he might be proud, and he turns upon me like that!”
“It was the act of a high-spirited, mischievous boy,” said Helen quietly.
“Mischievous! I should think it was. Confound him! But I’ll have no more of his tricks. Back he goes to the Union, and I’ll have one without so much spirit.”
Helen continued her lunch, and the doctor went on with his, but only to turn pettishly upon his child.
“I wish to goodness you’d say something, Helen,” he cried. “It’s so exasperating to have every one keeping silence like that.”
Helen looked up and smiled.
“Yes, and that’s just as aggravating,” said the doctor. “Now you are laughing at me.”
“No, no; I was thinking very seriously about your project.”