He went back to the dining-room; more lights, and a table laid for
two, a snowy cloth and flowers, and a single carnation stuck into his
napkin--that must be from Louise--little Louise.
At last Merle was awakened by the touch of his hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, are you there?"
"Good-evening, Merle!" They embraced, and he kissed her forehead. But
she could see that his mind was busy with other things.
They sat down to table, and began their meal. She could read the
expression of his face, his voice, his calm air--she knew they meant bad
news.
But she would not question him. She would only try to show him that all
things else could be endured, if only they two loved each other.
But the time had passed when an unexpected caress from her was enough
to send him wild with joy. She sat there now trembling inwardly with
suspense, wondering if he would notice her--if he could find any comfort
in having her with him, still young and with something of her beauty
left.
He looked over to her with a far-away smile. "Merle," he asked, "what do
you think your father is worth altogether?" The words came like a quiet
order from a captain standing on the bridge, while his ship goes down.
"Oh, Peer, don't think about all that to-night. Welcome home!" And she
smiled and took his hand.
"Thanks," he said, and pressed her fingers; but his thoughts were still
far off. And he went on eating without knowing what he ate.
"And what do you think? Louise has begun the violin.
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