“Can you spare me a few minutes, Father?”
“I am all ears;” he shut the book, and his hand closed about hers.
“Jennie was here just now.”
“And did not come in to see me?”
“She had something to tell me.”
“A secret?”
“Yes; something I must repeat to you.”
“Yes?”
“Father—Jennie thinks—she has reason to know that—dear, do you think Mother is perfectly well?”
“No, my child; I know she is not.”
This quiet assurance was staggering.
“And you allow her to go on in this way without calling in a physician?” A wave of indignant color suffused her cheeks.
“Yes.”
“But—but—why?” She became a little confused under his calm gaze, feeling on the instant that she had implied an accusation unjustly.
“Because, Ruth, I have become convinced of it only within the past week. Your mother knows it herself, and is trying to hide it from me.”
“Did she admit it?”
“I have not spoken of it to her; she is very excitable, and as she wishes to conceal it, I do not care to annoy her by telling her of my discovery.”
“But isn’t it wrong—unwise—to allow her to dissipate so much?”
“I have managed within the past week to keep you as quiet as possible.”
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