'These evenings haunt me,' returned Ethel, with a sort of shudder. 'I think I am losing my nerve, Mildred; but I feel positively as though I cannot bear many more of them--the great dimly-lighted room; you know my weakness for light; but he says it makes his head bad, and those lamps with the great shades are all he will have; the interminable dinner which Duncan always seems to prolong, the difficulty of finding a subject on which we shall not disagree, and the dread of falling into one of those dreadful pauses which nothing seems to break. Oh, Mildred, may you never experience it.' 'Poor Ethel, I can understand it all so well.' Ethel dried her eyes. 'It seems wrong to complain of one's father, but I have not deserved this loss of confidence; he is trying my dutifulness too much.' 'It will not fail you. "Let patience have her perfect work," Ethel.' 'No, you must only comfort me to-night; I am beyond even your wise maxims, Mildred. I wish I had not come, it makes me feel so sore, and yet I could not resist the longing to see you on your birthday. See, I have brought you a gift,' showing her a beautifully-chased cross in her hand. 'Dear Ethel, how wrong; I have asked you so often not to overwhelm me with your presents.' 'How selfish to deny me my one pleasure. I have thought about this all day. We have had visitors, a whole bevy from Carlisle, and I could not get away; and now I must go to that odious party at the Castle.' 'You must indeed not wait any longer, your friends will be wondering,' remonstrated Mildred. 'Oh no, Mrs. Sigourney is always late. You are very unsociable to-night, Mildred, just when I require so much.' 'I only wish I knew how to comfort you.' 'It comforts me to look into your face and hold your hand. Listen, Mildred--to-night I was so hungry and desolate for want of a kind word or look, that I grew desperate; it was foolish of me, but I could have begged for it as a hungry dog will beg for a crumb.' 'What did you say?' asked Mildred, breathlessly. 'I went and stood by his chair when I ought to have left the room; that was a mistake, was it not?' with a low, bitter laugh. 'I think I touched his sleeve, for he drew it away with a look of surprise. "Papa," I said; "I cannot bear this any longer. I do not feel as though I were your child when you never look at me voluntarily."' 'And what was his answer?' '"Ethel, you know I hate scenes, they simply disgust me."' 'Only that!' 'No. I was turning away when he called me back in his sternest manner.'