“Certainly not. I have other plans for you,” he answered, with instant decision.
“But, I can not bear the idea of that boarding-school! I give you fair notice that I am likely to run away from it and drown myself.”
“Poor Cinthia, poor unhappy child!” and his voice grew suddenly deep and tender, while he gazed with dim eyes at her flushed, defiant face.
A great pity and sympathy rose in his heart for the hapless girl whose life was blighted in its dawning by a hopeless love.
He said to himself that he must rise superior to the self-absorption of years and give time and thought to brightening his daughter’s life.
Perhaps she might turn out more lovable than he had ever dared hope; but even if not, there was his neglected duty staring him in the face. He could not shirk it any longer, now that Cinthia had cut adrift from the old life, and had no one to depend on but him. He must win her from the despair and desperation of her present mood to contentment with life.
Speaking very gently and kindly, he said:
“If you think you can not endure the school, I must make other plans for you. How would you like to travel awhile?”
Her dark eyes gleamed with sudden interest, and she cried, quickly:
“It would please me more than anything else you can offer. I tell you frankly that I am wretched, and that change of scene and constant excitement offer the only panacea for my troubles.”