“Oh, you know, dad, I’m just silly. The worst thing just now is that you and I are going—to—separate, and the other worst thing is always—that.” She struggled to explain.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” A father can be so understanding.
For some moments they sat there not even breaking their sanctuary with an audible sigh, then Jane’s voice aroused them and they went back to see about locking the store room.
The very next day he was gone! And a crumpled little heap of palpitating sorrow was Gloria Doane!
“Don’t mind me, Jane, please don’t mind me,” she wailed, “I’ve just got—to cry—or I’ll choke!” she sobbed, shaking and shuddering in her grief as if the torrent would never leave her until it had consumed every ray of happiness hidden in the most secret recesses of her throbbing heart.
“But you’ll make yourself ill,” murmured Jane. “If your father knew you were going to take it like this—”
“Jane, listen!” and Gloria struggled bravely with the torrent of grief. “My father has sacrificed so much for me. Ever since he has been old enough to know what he wanted, he couldn’t have it.” She paused to choke back tears. “And I have been determined ever since I could know what—I wanted, that he should have his chance.” Her voice rang out with heroic determination.
Jane gazed in wonder at the girl so lately her baby-charge, her little wild flower Gloria! But she did not interrupt.
“And now he’s gone—”
The dark head buried itself again in the patched silk cushion, and Jane patted the heaving shoulders, too perplexed to offer advice, and too confused to know how to cope with the new Gloria, so suddenly grown up, prepared to face the brunt of her heroic sacrifice.