“No, father.”
“Why that ‘No, father’? What a curious expression is in your voice, Sylvia, my dear! Since your mother’s death you have been my one comfort. Heart and soul you have gone with me through the painful life which I am obliged to lead. I know that I am doing the right thing. I am no longer lavishly wasting that which has been entrusted to me, but am, on the contrary, saving for the day of need. My dear girl, you and I have planned our life of retrenchment. How much does our food cost us for a week?”
“Very, very little, father. Too little.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Father, forgive me; I must speak.”
“What is wrong?”
Mr. Leeson pushed his daughter away. His eyes, which had been full of kindness, grew sharp and became slightly narrowed; a watchful expression came into his face.
“Beware, Sylvia, how you agitate me; you know the consequences.”
“Since mother died,” answered the girl, “I have never agitated you; I have always tried to do exactly as you wished.”
“On the whole you have been a good girl; your one and only fault has been your greediness. Last night, it is true, you displeased me very deeply, but on your promise never to transgress so again I have forgiven you.”