“Do I interrupt you, sir?” Star asked, modestly, but without advancing beyond the threshold.
“Not at all, Miss Star. Come here and sit down; I am just through,” he answered, heartily.
She went and stood before him. She did not wish to sit down; she could say what she intended to tell him better standing, she thought.
“You spoke so kindly to me this morning,” she began, “that I have ventured to come to you for a little advice this evening.”
“Spoke kindly to you! Why on earth shouldn’t I speak kindly to you?” he asked, in surprise.
Then noticing her pale, weary face, he continued:
“What under the sun have you been doing to-day? You look tired to death.”
Star tried to smile, but she felt more like dropping her face upon her hands and sobbing aloud.
She controlled herself with an effort, however, and putting some of her papers upon the table beside him, said:
“I have brought you some papers which papa gave me just before—just before he died”—a sob would come in spite of her then. “One is a copy of a letter which he wrote to Mrs. Richards,” she went on, “and there is also her reply. Will you kindly read them, and tell me just what you understand by them?”