“Papa has this secret business now, you see,” said his wife, anxious to help him out—she was looking straight before her. “This business is, by itself, of tremendous importance.”
“Is that since Uncle Prigson was here?” asked Leida, going up to her father, and laying her arm over his shoulder. “You’re not angry with me any more, are you, papa?—you know—since that morning?”
Van Arlen bent down to his daughter and kissed her on the forehead. “No, little girl,—I can’t be angry with you.”
“But you never travel now, papa. Has that part of your work been taken away? That’s stupid!”
“The travelling has come to an end,” said Van Arlen thoughtfully,—“come to an end for good and all.”
The item “Travelling expenses,” in the Van Arlen budget, was now replaced by another, which was, “Instalments and interest on debt.”
“That’s a pity,” said Caroline, “because now you can never take two of us with you, as you promised to do long ago.”
“That plan has come to nothing too, child. Besides, I’m getting old.”
“Oh, papa!—you old! that’s the first we’ve heard of it. It must be since you gave up your glass of wine at dinner.”
“Papa has to keep his head clear, you see,” said Mrs Van Arlen. “That’s the penalty of greatness, girls!”