“And he heard what you said!” exclaimed Felix, patting him again on the arm.
“I am not sure that I understood,” said Mr. Wentworth, who had angularity in his voice as well as in his gestures.
Gertrude had been looking hard at her former suitor. She had been puzzled, like her sister; but her imagination moved more quickly than Charlotte’s. “Mr. Brand asked you to let Felix take me away,” she said to her father.
The young minister gave her a strange look. “It is not because I don’t want to see you any more,” he declared, in a tone intended as it were for publicity.
“I shouldn’t think you would want to see me any more,” Gertrude answered, gently.
Mr. Wentworth stood staring. “Isn’t this rather a change, sir?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir.” And Mr. Brand looked anywhere; only still not at Charlotte. “Yes, sir,” he repeated. And he held his handkerchief a few moments to his lips.
“Where are our moral grounds?” demanded Mr. Wentworth, who had always thought Mr. Brand would be just the thing for a younger daughter with a peculiar temperament.
“It is sometimes very moral to change, you know,” suggested Felix.
Charlotte had softly left her sister’s side. She had edged gently toward her father, and now her hand found its way into his arm. Mr. Wentworth had folded up the Advertiser into a surprisingly small compass, and, holding the roll with one hand, he earnestly clasped it with the other. Mr. Brand was looking at him; and yet, though Charlotte was so near, his eyes failed to meet her own. Gertrude watched her sister.