“O father!” said Helen.
“It is all true, my child. Even now, she has obtained an engagement to sing at the theatre, chiefly, as I think, though she will not admit it, because she thinks the money will be of use to me.”
“Indeed!” said the young artist. “I observed in this morning’s paper a very flattering account of the début of a young singer bearing your daughter’s name, but I had no idea it was she. Wait a moment, here it is.”
The young man pointed out the paragraph to Mr. Ford, who read it with proud gratification. It was pleasant to him to find that the daughter who was so dear to him should be appreciated by the public.
“Helen, I shall become proud of you,” he said.
“And I shall return the compliment, papa,—you know when. Papa, I want to whisper to you a moment.”
“Certainly, my dear; that is, if Mr. Coleman will excuse the impoliteness.”
“Don’t mention it, sir. I hope you will consider me so far a friend, as to treat me unceremoniously.”
“Mr. Coleman,” said Mr. Ford, after his whispered conference with Helen, “my daughter desires me to invite you to dine with us. I trust you will feel inclined to accept the invitation.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” said the young man, his face brightening up.