"Gwyn, my girl, what ails thee?" asked the father, scanning her face curiously as he munched his toast. "You haven't been crying?"
"I'm only a little tired, father," replied Gwyneth, trying to brighten up.
"I never knowed thee tired and miserable-looking before. What's crossed thee, girl?"
"Nothing, father. Please do not tease me." Then relenting, "One cannot always be gay."
"I will not tease thee." Elms often used the singular pronoun as token of endearment. "But if anything goes wrong, you let me know. I could twist this settlement round my finger; those who cheer the doctor and his son to-day would hoot them to-morrow, if I gave the word. But I do not want to—not yet. Let that young man, however, trifle with you—You need not look like that. Though you haven't told your old father, he's seed what was going on. I suppose he's thrown you over?"
"Who? Mr. Travers? He has done nothing of the kind. There is nothing between us. I have given him up for ever."
"Then you are a bigger fool than I thought."
"That's my affair, father. Please let us change the subject. I'll try to do right, for your sake, father, as well as for others. Please, father," she added, "do not talk as you did just now about the people. I cannot think that they would be so fickle and ungrateful as you often suggest. I will not entertain the idea for one moment."
"Then, my dear, you do not know human nature as I do."
"There must, then, be something wrong, radically, in Church, State, and Society, or somewhere, if the great mass of our people are the cold-blooded, calculat-
