"Preposterous!" he cried. "You know I have no such sum to fritter away!"
"I have worked for you six years," said Pen wistfully. "A hundred dollars a year does not seem much!"
"Oh, if you're going to measure your duty towards me in dollars and cents!"
"But I'm not! I..."
"That's enough. I am your father. I am the best judge of what is right for you."
Pen was too sore at heart to be very patient. "You got more money from Mr. Riever this morning," she said at a venture.
There was a significant exchange of glances, startled on his part, quietly assured on hers. He saw that it was useless to deny it.
"Well, if I did," he said with dignity, "you may be sure it wasn't a gift. I gave a fair return for it ... Anyway, that's my capital. I can't spend it."
"Did you undertake to keep me here for him?" Pen asked quietly.
By the way he puffed out his cheeks and wagged his head she saw that she had guessed somewhere near the truth. She was unspeakably saddened. Her father! What was the use?