"No."
"Oh, thank you!—thank you!" she cried, her voice vibrating with her great relief.
They looked into each other's eyes for a long space. "I hope this is all," he said.
"There's one more thing," she answered, and tried to gather herself for another effort. Her breast rose and fell, and she was all a-tremble. "There is something else—something I must say—something that has been upon my heart for weeks. Say that you forgive me before I say it, father!"
"Go on!"
Her voice was no more than a whisper. "I have learned that the stories ... about your not being honest ... are true."
His face blanched. "So—you insult your own father!"
"Don't make it any harder!" she besought piteously.
"You do not understand business matters," he said, harshly.
She did not hear his last words. "This is the other thing—I'm going to leave home," she went on rapidly. "Perhaps I would not decide to do what I am going to do, if I thought I could help you—to be different. But I know you, father; I know you will not—be different; you do not need me—you are strong and need no support—you will have Aunt Caroline. So I am going to go.