The girl went across to her father, and taking his hand, curled her soft fingers around it in a warm, infolding clasp. "Mrs. Seymour says you haven't been well," she said. The unexpected caress made the old man forget the game, and his face flushed with pleasure. He leaned toward her with the content of a forgiven child. "It was nothing--just a little turn like I had the other day. First a pain, and then something comes fluttering up near your throat. The heat knocked me out. But it scared Corinne." "He got the color of the pitcher," said Corinne, not moving her eyes from the cards, but sparing enough time to give a jerk of her head in the direction of a white china water-pitcher on the table. "You ought to have seen Corinne. She went out in the passage and made a noise as if there was a fire." "I was scairt," said Corinne, "and hollered for mommer. I don't want you to scare me that way again, colonel." The colonel and Viola laughed. "I'll try and not have it happen again," said the old man. "You know, I always do what you tell me." "Mostly always," Corinne absently agreed. "I'm going to put this ten-spot here. Look, colonel, isn't that the best move?" The old man leaned forward, studying the contemplated move. Viola drew back, watching him. She had noticed his pallor when she came in. Now his face, settled into lines of gravity, appeared to have suddenly collapsed and withered into the gray hollows of decrepitude. Her heart contracted at the sight. She turned away, under the pretense of pulling off her gloves, and said: "I made a plan when I was out this afternoon. I think you'll like it." "Let's hear it," he said, turning back from the cards and watching her with a fond half-smile. "Something I think you'll like--oh, ever so much!" She patted and pinched the limp gloves into shape, not looking at him. "Hit me with it," he said. "Mrs. Seymour's just given me that glass half full of brandy; you can't expect me to guess after that." "That we should go back to San Francisco." Her news had more effect than even she had expected. The colonel sat up as if he had been struck, his lips quivering into a smile that he feared to indulge. "Do you mean that, Viola? Do you really mean it?" he asked. "Of course I do. I thought you'd like it." "But do you like it? Do you want to go? Isn't there--wouldn't you rather stay here?" "Oh, no." She struck lightly on the edge of the table with the gloves, avoiding his eyes. "I'd rather be there. We've had our little change, and we can go back. It's our home, anyway; and we've enough money to last for a long time yet."