“Oh, yes! of course; and I ought not to find the least fault with him; to you anyhow.”
“Dar, darlin’, Ise done wid fixin’ you,” remarked Aunt Chloe, smoothing down the folds of Elsie’s dress. “Now, Miss Annis, what kin I do fo’ you? I reckon de suppah bell ring fo’ long.”
Not long after supper Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie were left sole occupants of the parlor. Dr. Landreth had gone to the library to do some writing, being much occupied just now with the business which had brought him South, the ladies were engaged with their babies, and Annis had run after Mildred as she left the room.
Mr. Dinsmore was pacing thoughtfully to and fro, Elsie seated beside the centre-table, turning over some new books, but now and then stealing a furtive glance at her father, very much wishing he would call her to him, broach the subject of the invitation to Ion, and say that he intended to let her accept it.
Presently she caught his eye, and pausing at her side he laid his hand caressingly on her head. “What is it?” he asked, smiling down into the wistful, eager little face. “I see that my little girl has something to say to me. Come, sit on my knee and tell me all that is in your heart.”
He took her hand as he spoke, led her to an easy-chair, and seating himself therein drew her to his knee.
“Now, my darling, say on.”
“Papa,” she said, putting an arm round his neck and gazing straight into his eyes, with hers brimful of filial love to him and joy in his love for her, “don’t you know all about it? you almost always know what I’m thinking about and what I want.”
“Never mind how much I know. I choose to have you tell me,” he said, softly touching his lips to the white forehead and the round rosy cheek.
“Well then, father,” she answered, dwelling slightly, with an indescribably sweet and tender intonation upon that last word, “it is that Annis and I would like, oh, very much! to accept the invitation to Ion, especially if you will go too. I’m not quite sure I do wish to go without you.”