made; her figure being as firm and well knit as that of a boy. For an
instant his eyes wandered over her simple gown of white mull, tied at
the throat with the daintiest of pink ribbons, her well shaped ears
and the wealth of auburn hair that sprang from the nape of her shapely
neck and lay in an undulating mass of gold all over her pretty head.
Whatever sorrows life had for him were nothing compared to the joy of
this daughter.

All his anger was gone in an instant.

"Little girl, you know it's against orders, this reading in bed," he
said in his kindly tone. Never in all her life had he spoken a cross
word to her. "You'll ruin your eyes and you must be tired."

She closed her book. "Tired--yes, I am tired. Mother's dinners are
such dreadfully long ones, and, then, daddy, to-night I've been
worrying about you. You seemed so silent at dinner--it made my heart
ache. Are you ill, daddy? or has something happened? I tried to
sleep, but I couldn't. I've been waiting for you. Tell me what has
happened--you will tell me, won't you, daddy?" Her smooth, young arms
were about his neck now. "Tell me," she pleaded in his ear.

"There's nothing to tell, little girl," he said. "I'm tired too, I
suppose; that's all. Come--you must go to sleep. Pouf!" and he blew
out the flame of the reading candle at her bedside.

* * * * *

For a long time that night Thayor sat staring into the fire in his
room, his mind going over the events of the day--the luncheon--the