"I believe we may trust him, Florence."
"Let us hurry to the taxicab. We must not stand here."
"My mother?"
"She is dead. I believe she died shortly after your birth. I have been with your father but fourteen years. I know but little of his life prior to that."
"Why did he leave me all these years without ever coming to see me? Why?"
"It is not for me, Miss Florence, to inquire into your father's act. But I do know that whatever he did was meant for the best. Your welfare was everything to him."
"It is all very strange," said the girl, bewilderedly. "Why didn't he come to meet me instead of you?"
Jones stared at his hands, miserably.
"Why?" she demanded. "I have thought of him, thought of him. He has hurt me with all this neglect. I expected to see him at the station, to throw my arms, around his neck and ... forgive him!" Tears swam in her eyes as she spoke.
"Everything will be explained to you when we reach the house. But always remember this, Miss Florence: You were everything in this wide world to your father. You will never know the misery and loneliness he suffered that you might not have one hour of unrest. What are your plans?" he asked abruptly of the teacher from Miss Farlow's.