"What's the matter, dear?"
The girl slipped her arm around his neck with a sob.
He bent and kissed the golden hair, stroking it fondly until she was calmer.
"Why do you wish to go now, child?" he asked at last.
"I've a confession to make, Papa dear."
The little head sank low and the arm tightened its grip about his neck.
"What is it, darling? I'm sure it's nothing of which you're ashamed."
"No, something of which I'm proud. Something so sweet and wonderful in itself, the very joy of it I feel sometimes will kill me. I'm in love, desperately and hopelessly."
Again a sob caught her voice, and the father's arms drew her to his heart and held her.
"But why hopelessly, my baby?" he asked. "Your hair is beaten gold, your eyes are deep and true, your slender little form has all the symmetry and beauty of a sylph. You are young, radiant, glorious, and your voice the angels would envy."