Mrs. Evringham's fair brow contracted as she regarded her daughter with
exasperation. "And you are only nineteen! One would think it was you
instead of me to whom the next birthday would bring that detested
forty."

The girl looked at her mother, whose youthful face and figure betrayed
the source of her own heritage of physical charm.

"I long ago gave up the hope of ever again being as young as you are,"
she returned sadly. "Oh!" with a rare and piteous burst of feeling,
"if dear papa could have stayed with us, and we could have had a right
somewhere!"

Mrs. Evringham threw her arms about the young creature, welcoming the
softened mood. "You know I took you right to my own people, Eloise," she
said gently. "We stayed as long as I thought was right; they couldn't
afford to keep us." A sound at the door caused her to turn. The erect
form of her father-in-law had just entered the room.

"Ah, good evening, father," she said in tones whose sadness was not
altogether feigned, even though she secretly rejoiced that Eloise should
for once show such opportune emotion. "Pardon this little girl. She was
just feeling overwhelmed with a pang of homesickness for her father."

"Indeed!" returned Mr. Evringham. "Will you walk out? Mrs. Forbes tells
me that dinner is served."

Eloise, hastily drawing her handkerchief across her eyes, passed the
unbending figure, her cheeks stinging. His hard voice was in her ears.