Captain Danton returned just as the dinner-bell was ringing; and his welcome made up in cordiality what his daughter's lacked. He, too, had changed. His florid face had lost much of its colour, and was grown thin, and his eyes were ever wandering, with a look of mournful tenderness, to his pale daughter.
They were all rather silent. Grace and her brother and the Captain talked in a desultory sort of way during dinner; but Kate never spoke, except when directly addressed, and silence was Eeny's forte. She sat down to the piano after dinner, according to her invariable custom, but not to sing. She had never sung since that day. How could she? There was not a song in all her collection that did not bring the anguish of some recollection of him, so she only played brilliant new, soulless fantasias, that were as empty as her heart.
When she arose from the instrument, she resumed her book and sat down at a table studiously; but Doctor Frank, watching her covertly, saw she did not turn over a page in an hour. She was the first to retire—very early, looking pale and jaded to death. Half an hour later, Eeny followed her, and then Captain Danton pushed away the chess-board impatiently. He had been playing with the Doctor, and began pacing feverishly up and down the room.
"What shall I do with her?" he exclaimed. "What shall I do to keep my darling girl from dying before my eyes? Doctor Danton, you are a physician; tell me what I shall do?"
"Take her away from here," said the Doctor, emphatically. "It is this place that is killing her. How can it be otherwise? Everything she sees from morning till night brings back a thousand bitter recollections of what is past and gone. Take her away, where there will be nothing to recall her loss; take her where change and excitement will drown thought. As her mind recovers its tone, so will her body. Take her travelling for the summer."
"Yes—yes," said Grace, earnestly. "I'm sure it is the very best thing you can do."
"But, my dear," said Captain Danton, smiling a little, "you forget that the first week of July we are to be married."
"Oh, put it off," Grace said; "what does a little delay matter? We are not like Rose and Reginald; we are old and steady, and we can trust one another and wait. A few month's delay is nothing, and Kate's health is everything."
"She might go with us," said the Captain; "suppose it took place this month instead of next, and we made a prolonged wedding-tour, she might accompany us."
Grace shook her head.