"Your mother is leaving here by the first train," she said, "and she says I must not go with her. Something has made her very unhappy; her face grieves me more than I can say. Persuade her to let me go. She ought not to travel alone."
"I shall be with her," he answered, "and Rachel Goldsmith will meet her in Berne. No, Dorothy, it would be a greater comfort to my mother if you stay here with my father. He is very fond of you, and he, too, is unhappy. You must stay with him and comfort him."
"Yes," she said, weeping; "what has happened I do not know, but I will do what you and Mrs. Martin think best. I do not know which I love the most. Is it anything very dreadful?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Is there nothing I can do besides staying with your father?" she asked. "Philip, we all know how very, very rich I shall be—too rich. If any money is wanted, tell him to recollect how much there is of mine, more than any girl could use. But money losses would not make you miserable."
"No," he said; "no loss of money would break my mother's heart."
"That is how she looks," resumed Dorothy, "as if her heart was broken; and oh! I cannot bear to lose sight of her. If I was her own child she would tell me all about it, and I could comfort her. But now, at the very worst moment, I feel what a stranger I am among you all."
"No, dear Dorothy," he answered; "you are as dear as a daughter to her and my father. You will know all by and by, and you will see then you were of more use staying here than going away with my mother."
"And is Phyllis going with you?" she asked.
"Phyllis? Oh, no!" he said.