"No," she answered. "I thought he would call here, and I told Anneli where we had gone."
Lind betrayed no expression of annoyance. He only said, coldly,
"Last night I told you it was my wish that he and you should have no further communication with each other."
"Yes; but is it reasonable, is it fair, is it possible, papa?" she said, forgetting for a moment her forced composure. "Do you think I can forget why he is going away?"
"Apparently you do not know why he is going away," her father said. "He is going to America because his duty commands that he should; because he has work to do there of more importance than sentimental entanglements in this country. He understands himself the necessity of his going."
The girl's cheeks burnt red, and she sat silent. How could she accuse her own father of prevarication? But the crisis was a momentous one.
"You forget, papa," she said at length, in a low voice, "that when you returned from abroad and got Mr. Brand's letter, you came to me. You said that if there was any further question of a—a marriage—between Mr. Brand and myself, you would have to send him to America. I was to be the cause of his banishment."
"I spoke hastily—in anger," her father said, with some impatience. "Quite apart from any such question, Mr. Brand knows that it is of great importance some one like himself should go to Philadelphia; and at the moment I don't see any one who could do as well. Have you anything further to say?"
"No, papa—except good night." She kissed him on the forehead and went away to her own room.