Part 16 (1/2)
She looked him full in the face, and put both her hands in his impulsively.
”You are too good,” she exclaimed, with fervor. ”But you cannot afford so large a gift. No, I would only take it if you had a very large sum, and could not possibly miss it. I asked carelessly. I should not have done so--I was selfish to think of such a thing.”
”I want to speak to you about something, also,” said Roseleaf, after a strained pause. ”I have noticed of late that your father has some trouble on his mind.”
She started suddenly.
”Ah!” was all she said.
”And I have wondered if there was anything I could do to--to aid _him_--to relieve him. Because, I would like it very much if I could, on account of--of--”
She looked up inquiringly.
”I have been so much a member of your family, in a certain way, that a grief like this appeals strongly to me,” he said, haltingly.
She paled slightly as she repeated his words.
”A grief?”
”Well, distress, annoyance, whatever it may be called. If there is anything I can do, I shall be more than happy.”
The girl sat for some moments with her eyes on the ground.
”He _is_ troubled,” she said, finally. ”I am glad to talk with you, for I cannot get him to tell me anything. He is greatly troubled, and I am worried beyond expression. I can't understand it. He has always confided in me so thoroughly, but now he shakes his head and says it is nothing, trying to look brighter even when the tears are almost ready to fall.
What can it be, Mr. Roseleaf? He has no companions outside of his office and this house? He sits by himself, and isn't a bit like he used to be and every day I think he grows worse.”
Roseleaf asked if Daisy had talked much with her sister about it.
”No,” she said, with a headshake. ”I don't believe Millie has noticed anything. She is so occupied with her literary matters”--there was a sarcastic touch upon the word, that did not escape the listener--”she has no time for such things. I hope you won't think I mean to criticise her,” added the young girl, with a blush. ”I know you care a great deal for my sister, and--”
She stopped in the midst of the sentence, leaving it unfinished. And Roseleaf thought how interesting this girl had become.
”Let me confide in you, Daisy,” he said, in his softest tone. ”I do not care 'a great deal,' nor even a very little for your sister. You see,”
he went on, in response to the startled look that greeted him, ”I am to be a novelist. To be successful in writing fiction, I have been told that I ought to be in love--just once--myself. And I came here and tried very hard to fall in love with Miss Millicent; and I simply cannot.”
Daisy's fresh young laugh rang out on the air of the evening.
”Poor man!” she cried, with mock pity. ”And hasn't she tried to help you?”
”No. She hasn't. And as soon as I get the work done I have commenced for her, I am going away.”
The child--she was scarcely more than that--grew whiter, but the shadows of the evening hid the fact from her companion.
”You ought not to go,” she said, slowly, and rather faintly, ”until you have made another trial.”
”Oh! It is useless!” he replied.
”Is it that you cannot love--Millie--or that you cannot love--any one?”