"I'm not disturbing you, I hope? I came to see how you were. I thought you looked so bad at dinner...."
She tended him, like a good daughter; and he appreciated it. His heart was sensitive and soft and he appreciated the companionship of the home: Ina's care, the boys' youth imparted a genial warmth to his poor chilled heart; and he put out his hand to her. She sat down beside his chair, giving a quick glance at the papers before him, interested in the sight of all those figures, which no doubt represented the state of Papa's fortune and Uncle Daan's. Then she asked:
"Are you ill, Father dear?"
"Yes," he said, moaning, "I'm in pain." And, moved by her affection, he added, "Better if it were over with me soon."
"Don't say that: we could never do without you."
He smiled, with a gesture of denial:
"You would have a trouble the less."
"Why, you know you're no trouble to me."
It was true and she said it sincerely; the note of sincerity rang true in his child's motherly voice.
"But you oughtn't to be always working like this," she went on.