Captain Dan rubbed the smile from his lips. In spite of his perturbation he had been amused for the moment.
“Why,” he observed, “I don't know as 'tis, but—but—well, I couldn't help wonderin' how old you'd got to be in the last couple of months, Gertie. You talk as if you was the grandmother and your ma and I were young ones just out of school. About how much experience have YOU had, young lady? now that we're speakin' of it.”
Gertrude's earnestness was too real to be shaken by this pertinent inquiry.
“I have had a good deal,” she declared. “One can get a lot of experience in college. There are as many kinds of character there, on a small scale, as anywhere I know. I have seen girls—but there! this is all irrelevant, away from the subject. You ARE neglected, Daddy; you are lonely and miserable. Now, I want you to tell me all about it.”
But her father had, in a measure, recovered his composure, and he declined to tell. He had been longing for a confidant, and here was the one he had longed for most; but his sense of loyalty to Serena kept him silent.
“There's nothin' to tell,” he vowed stoutly. “I'm all right. You're dreamin', Gertie.”
“Nonsense! I shall lose patience with you pretty soon, and I don't want to. Judging by what I have seen and learned so far, I am likely to need a great deal of patience in this house, and I can't waste any. Mother has gone head over heels into this precious Ladies of Honor work of hers, hasn't she?”
“We-ll, she's terrible interested in it, of course; but she's so smart anyhow, and here in Scarford she's got the chance she's been lookin' for.”
“And she is very much in society here, isn't she?”
“Yes. That's natural, too, with her smartness and all.”