A glance, somewhat comical in its keenness, overturned Ellen's hesitation.
"I have, indeed," said she, laughing; "only I did not want to tell you. The reason why I didn't wish to go was because I thought I should be missed. You don't know how much I miss you," said she, with tears in her eyes.
"That is what I was afraid of! Your reasons make against you,
Ellie."
"I hope not; I don't think they ought."
"But, Ellie, I am very sure my father would rather miss you once or twice than have you want what would be good for you."
"I know that! I am sure of that; but that don't alter my feeling, you know. And besides, that isn't all."
"Who else will miss you?"
Ellen's quick look seemed to say that he knew too much already, and that she did not wish him to know more. He did not repeat the question, but Ellen felt that her secret was no longer entirely her own.
"And what do you do, Ellie, when you feel lonely?" he went on presently.
Ellen's eyes watered at the tone in which these words were spoken; she answered "Different things."