“Felicia—she is only waiting, Raine.”
“Felicia!”
“Yes. Who else?”
Raine passed his hand through his hair and walked to and fro about the room, his hands dug deep in his pockets. The old man followed him with his eyes, anxiously, not comprehending.
Suddenly Raine stopped short before him.
“Father, I haven't been a brute. I haven't trifled with her. I never suspected it. I liked her for her own sake, because she is a bright, likeable girl—and I am fond of her for your sake. But I have never, to my knowledge, led her to suppose—believe me.”
And then the old man saw his plans for Raine's future fall in desolation round him like a house of cards.
“I don't understand,” he said rather piteously, “if she is the attraction—”
“It is not little Felicia.”
“Ah!” said the old man, with the bitter pang of disappointment.