“Mother, there are times when I believe you are afraid of father.”
“I am always afraid of him. It is only because I make believe I’m not that I can get him to do anything. It was dreadful. And Mr. Courtlandt was such a gentleman. I could cry. But let your father be until to-morrow.”
“And have him wandering about with that black eye? Something must be done for it. I’m not afraid of him.”
“Sometimes I wish you were.”
So Nora entered the lion’s den fearlessly. “Is there anything I can do for you, dad?”
“You can get the witch-hazel and bathe this lamp of mine,” grimly.
She ran into her own room and returned with the simpler devices for reducing a swollen eye. She did not notice, or pretended that she didn’t, that he locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He sat down in a chair, under the light; and she went to work deftly.
“I’ve got some make-up, and to-morrow morning I’ll paint it for you.”
“You don’t ask any questions,” he said, with grimness.
“Would it relieve your eye any?” lightly.