Part 13 (1/2)

Later in the evening father and daughter were alone beside a well-shaded lamp in the cosey sitting-room. Mollie had retired early, complaining of a headache, and carrying with her an air of martyrdom even more p.r.o.nounced than usual; so noticeable, in fact, that, absently watching the door through which she had left, an expression of positive gloom formed over Scotty's thin face. Two strong young arms fell suddenly about his neck and abruptly changed his thoughts. A soft warm cheek was laid against his own.

”Poor old daddy!” whispered a caressing voice.

For a moment Scotty did not move; then, turning, he looked into the brown eyes. ”Why?” he asked.

”Because,”--her voice was low, her answering look was steady,--”because it won't be but a little while until he'll have to move away--move back into civilization.”

For a moment neither spoke; then, with a last pressure of her cheek against her father's, the girl crossed the room and took another chair.

Scotty followed her with his eyes.

”Are you against me, too, little girl?” he asked.

Florence reached over to the table, took up an ever-ready strip of rice-paper, and, rolling a cigarette, tendered it with the air of a peace-offering.

”No, I'm not against you; but it's got to come. Mamma simply can't change. She can't find anything here to interest her, and we've got to take her away--for good.”

Scotty slowly struck a sulphur match, waited until the flame had burned well along the wood, then deliberately lit his cigarette and burned it to a stump.

”Aren't you happy here, Flossie?” he asked gently.

The girl's hands were folded in her lap, her eyes looked past him absently.

”Really, for once in my life,” she answered seriously, ”I spoke quite unselfishly. I was thinking only of mamma.” There was a pause, and a deeper concentration in the brown eyes. ”As for myself, I hardly know.

Yes, I do know. I'm happy now, but I wouldn't be long. The life here is too narrow; I'd lose interest in it. At last I'd have a frantic desire, one I couldn't resist, to peep just over the edge of the horizon and take part in whatever is going on beyond.” She smiled. ”I might run away, or marry an Indian, or do something shocking!”

Scotty flicked off a bit of ashes with his little finger.

”Can't you think of anything that would interest you and broaden your life enough to make it pleasant?” he ventured.

This time mirth shone upon the girl's face, and a laugh sounded in her voice.

”Papa, papa,” she said, ”I didn't think that of you! Are you so anxious to get rid of your daughter?” As swiftly as it had come, the smile vanished, leaving in its place a softer and warmer color.

”I'm not enough of a hypocrite,” she added slowly, ”to pretend not to understand what you mean. Yes, I believe if there is a man in the world I could care enough for to marry, I could live here or anywhere with him and be perfectly happy; but that isn't possible. I'm of the wrong disposition.” The soft color in the cheek grew warmer, the brown eyes sparkled. ”I know myself well enough to realize that any man I could care for wouldn't live out here. He'd be one who did things, and did them better than others; and to do things he'd have to be where others are. No, I never could live here.”

Scotty dropped the dead cigarette stump into an ash-tray, and brushed a stray speck of dust from his sleeve.

”In other words, you could never care for such a man as your father,” he remarked quietly.

The girl instantly realized what she had said, and springing up she threw her arms impulsively about her father's neck.

”Dear old daddy!” she said. ”There isn't another man in the world like you! I love you dearly, dearly!” The soft lips touched his cheek again and again. But for the first time in her life that Florence could remember, her father did not respond. Instead, he gently freed himself.

”Nevertheless,” he said, steadily, ”the fact remains. You could never marry a man like your father,--one who had no desire to be known of men, but who simply loved you and would do anything in his power to make you happy. You have said it.” Scotty rose slowly, the youthfulness of his movements gone, the expression of age unconsciously creeping into the wrinkles at his temples and at the corners of his mouth. ”You have hurt me, Florence.”

The girl was at once repentant, but her repentance came too late. She dropped her face into her hands.