The jaunty, Anglo- Indian veneer had for the time being dropped off, unmasking the worried exterior of a chicken-hearted man.
At the sight of his daughter he pulled himself together, and crushed in his hand the letter which he had been reading.
"Why, my child," said he, with unusual cordiality, "this is a pleasant apparition.

Cruel girl, to desert us for so long.

We have hardly existed without you, Roger and his tutor are away in France holiday- making, while I remain here on duty with no one to cheer me up." "Dear father," said Rosalind, kissing him, "how worried you look! What is the matter?
Won't you tell me ?" The father's eyes dwelt for a moment on her fair earnest face--so like her mother's, so unlike a daughter of his--then they fell miserably.
"Worried ?" said he.

"Do I show it as plainly as all that?
I flattered myself I kept it to myself." "Any one can see you are unhappy, father.

Why ?" "I am in difficulties, my child, which you could not understand." "I could.