He stopped suddenly and looked at Harriet closely.
"Come here, Baby."
She came and stood beside his chair. He pressed her hand tenderly.
"What have you been crying about?" he asked anxiously.
"Oh, nothing much," was the low answer. "I really don't know—perhaps the thing that makes the birds out there in the Square chirp while the snow is still on the ground, the feeling that Spring is coming."
"You're keeping something from me, dearest," he whispered, slipping his arm about her waist. "Tell me."
"You really believe in my voice, don't you?" she asked slowly.
"Believe in it? Do I believe in God?"
"Could I go abroad right away and finish my work there?"
She asked the question with such painful intensity, the father looked up with a start.