She felt a melancholy in the softly falling rain and wet, black foliage that chimed with the sadness of her own spirit.

The night suited her very well, for her father's coming had brought a weight of depression with it.

Why could he not have spoken one word to her, even a cross one?
She knew that he did not love her, yet, merely as a fellow-being, she was entitled to a measure of courtesy; and the fact that she was his daughter could not excuse his failure to render it.

Was she to continue to live with him on their present terms?
She had no intention to make another effort to alter them; but to remain as they were would be intolerable, and Mrs.Tanberry could not stay forever, to act as a buffer between her and her father.

Peering out into the dismal night, she found her own future as black, and it seemed no wonder that the Sisters loved the convent life; that the pale nuns forsook the world wherein there was so much useless unkindness; where women were petty and jealous, like that cowardly Fanchon, and men who looked great were tricksters, like Fanchon's betrothed.