in a low voice; "you ought n't to say that to me."
She did not stir, and he said again, after a moment's pause:
"It 's not right for you to say that. I thought I was doing for the best. I may have done foolishly, but it was because I loved you."
He spoke heavily, sitting inert and sunken, with the lamplight pouring over his wrinkled face and white hair.
Suddenly Viola ran toward him. She put her arms round his neck, close and warm, and her tears fell on his hair, on his face, on his coat. She hugged his head against her breast and kissed it wildly, sobbing over and over:
"Oh, my poor father! Oh, my poor father! Oh, my poor father!"
The old man patted her head and said gently:
"Don't—don't go on that way. You did n't say anything. I 've forgotten it already."
But she knew he had not, and continued sobbing out passionate, broken sentences:
"I did n't mean it—I spoke without thinking. Oh, please forget it! Don't look like that! I did n't mean it—I did n't mean it for a minute."
He tried to soothe and comfort her, but he himself was very quiet. When she had sobbed herself into a state of apathetic exhaustion, he
