“A little, dear. I’ve been at the Museum all day.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go to that horrid old place. It always gives you a headache, you know,” said the girl anxiously.
“Ah, my child,” replied the old man with a sigh, “the place holds, for me, much that is interesting in life—in fact all that is interesting, except your own neat little self.”
The girl laughed merrily, declaring that compliments should not be paid to her in the presence of Frank.
But the old man, sighing rather wearily, said:
“Well, Gwen, it’s the truth. I have nothing much to live for, except yourself and my studies. When your dear mother died, the sun of my life was extinguished. And now you have grown up to take her place.”
She and Frank exchanged quick meaning glances.
“I hope always to live near you, dear old dad, even after we’re married,” she said. “I shall never desert you.”
Her father smiled, saying:
“That is what every girl says to her parents before marriage. Few, however, fulfil their promise.”