Florence laughed, but with something very like a sigh.
“What, are you willing to take boarders?” said Larcher. “If that's the case, put me down as the first applicant.”
“Our capacity for 'paying guests' is strictly limited to one person, and no gentlemen need apply. Two lumps, Flo dear?”
“Yes, please.—If only your restrictions didn't keep out poor father—”
“If only your poor father would consider your happiness instead of his own selfish plans.”
“Edna, dear! You mustn't.”
“Why mustn't I?” replied Edna, pouring tea. “Truth's truth. He's your father, but I'm your friend, and you know in your heart which of us would do more for you. You know, and he knows, that you'd be happier, and have better health, if you came to live with us. If he really loves you, why doesn't he let you come? He could see you often enough. But I know the reason; he's afraid you'd get out of his control; he has his own projects. You needn't mind my saying this before Tom Larcher; he read your father like a book the first time he ever met him.”
Larcher, in the act of swallowing some buttered muffin, instantly looked very wise and penetrative.
“I should think your father himself would be happier,” said he, “if he lived less privately and had more of men's society.”
“He's often in poor health,” replied Florence.