himself, a little, perhaps, to the direction
she had artfully given the conversation; but she well knew that most of
it had sprung spontaneously from the father-love which had never failed
her yet....

"And, Cally, hunt up that book I saw kicking around here last year,"
said Mr. Heth, when he rose. "If we're going to do it at all, we might
as well take the thing seriously, and get the bids straight."

"I'll find it, papa. We might read up a little before dinner. I'm
awfully rusty."

And then her father stood by her chair, pinching her smooth cheek,
looking down at her with an odd expression, half quizzical, half grave
and speculative. So she had found him looking at her last night, as she
sought to explain to him how different Dr. Vivian was from the articles
he wrote, and hated....

"So I'm to be on my company manners with this young man, eh? Ask him
won't he please be kind enough to teach an old man how to run his
business, that it?"

"I didn't say that, papa dear.... I feel I haven't thanked you half
enough for being so sweet to me ... about it all."

"Rather surprised at my sweetness myself.... Well," said Mr. Heth,
musing down at the apple of his eye. "There must be something a good
deal out of the common about a boy who could get you so worked up about
a factory, I'll say that.... And he certainly looks a whole lot better'n
he writes."

He quoted something about an old dog's new tricks, kissed her with
tenderness, said, "Well, if we come to blows, I'll 'phone you for help,"
and went off humming an air.

For Cally was not to be of the Works party this afternoon. It had stood
as an ideal opportunity for the two men's better acquaintance; her
presence, she had thought, might only mar it. Now, gazing after her
father's departing back, she rather wished she had decided otherwise....

She searched and found So-and-So's "Auction Bridge." A time passed: and
she was in the big bedroom, making her peace with mamma.

She had supposed the thing to do was simply to go on, as nearly as she
could, as if nothing had happened. But when she saw her mother's face,
marked as from an illness, she remembered nothing of any plan. She was
on her knees by the morris-chair, her arms flung about the strong little
figure whose dearest hopes she had spoiled: begging mamma to forgive her
for being such a disappointment and failure as a daughter, for seeming
so ungrateful and unreasonable, saying that she would do anything,
anythi