“Well, when I’m a bit low in my mind, I like to read it—more than any other book, I think—I find it sort of comforting. A man is never really lonely when he has books about him. Ah! I remember my place now—where Copperfield passes the blind beggar. It goes—let me see—yes: ‘He made me start by muttering as if he were an echo of the morning—“Blind—blind—blind.”’”
“I’m glad you find your books good company, Daddy.”
“Well—well—if—if we were ever parted, it would make me happy to think you had friends near you.”
Bransby laid his paper-weight down quickly and looked at his girl anxiously. “If we were ever parted? What do you mean, Helen?”
She turned from him a little as she replied softly, “Haven’t you—haven’t you ever looked forward to a time when we might be?”
“Oh!”—her father’s breath came quickly—“You mean that some day you might marry?”
“Well—you want me to marry—some day—don’t you, Daddy?”
“Why—why, yes. Yes, of course I do. It would be a wrench, a bad wrench, but—I should feel safer, if I knew there was some good man to take care of you.”
The girl came to him then, and he reached and took her hand and held it to his cheek.
“There is a good man who wants to—now.” She spoke very low—only just said it. But Richard Bransby heard every word; and every word cut him.
“Who is he?” There was fear in his voice and fear on his face. He dropped her hand.
He turned and walked as if groping his way towards the window.
Helen watched him, surprised and disappointed. “Why—why—Daddy!”
“Helen,” he said, still turned from her, “suppose—suppose I didn’t approve of your marrying Hugh—what would you do?”
The girl pouted a little. “Daddy dear,” she rebuked him, “do be serious.”
“I am serious.” He turned and faced her, sadly and gravely, far the more troubled of the two.
And she took a step towards him, and spoke clearly. “But why suppose such a thing? You would never refuse your consent to my marrying Hugh. You have loved him better than any one else in the world—except me—always since they came. Why, it has been almost as if he were your very own son.”
Her words affected him keenly. It was with a stern effort that he kept traces of his emotion from his voice. “But, if I didn’t approve?” he insisted.
Helen looked at him with startled eyes, realizing for the first time that he was serious. “You mean—you mean—you don’t!”