"Father, I don't know what to do; do you mind talking some things over with me. I suppose I should have been to see you anyway in a few days. Have we time to go clear to the bottom of things now?" She looked up at him with a serious, troubled face, and patted his hand. He felt instinctively the shadow that was on her heart, and his face may have winced. She saw or knew without seeing, the tremor in his soul. "Poor father--but you know it must come sometime. Let us talk it all out now." He nodded his head. He did not trust his voice. "Well, father dear," she said slowly. She nodded at the package--a long dress box beside the porch post. "That was sent to Margaret Fenn. It came here by mistake--addressed to me. There were some express charges on it. I thought it was for me; I thought Tom had bought it for me yesterday, when he was at the capital, so I opened it. There is a dress pattern in it--yellow and black--colors I never could wear, and Tom has an exquisite eye for those things, and also there is a pair of silk stockings to match. On the memoranda pinned on these, they are billed to Mrs. Fenn, but all charged to Tom. I hadn't opened it when I sent the expressman to Tom's office for the express charges, but when he finds the package has been delivered here--we shall have it squarely before us." The daughter did not turn her eyes to her father as she went on after a little sigh that seemed like a catch in her side: "So there we are." The Doctor patted his foot in silence, then replied: "My poor, poor child--my poor little girl," and added with a heavy sigh: "And poor Tom--Laura--poor, foolish, devil-ridden Tom." She assented with her eyes. At the end of a pause she said with anguish in her voice: "And when we began it was all so beautiful--so beautiful--so wonderful. Of course I've known for a long time--ever since before Lila came that it was slipping. Oh, father--I've known; I've seen every little giving of the tie that bound us, and in my heart deep down, I've known all--all--everything--all the whole awful truth--even if I have not had the facts as you've had them--you and mother--I suppose." "You're my fine, brave girl," cried her father, patting her trembling hand. But he could speak no further. "Oh, no, I'm not brave--I'm not brave," she answered. "I'm a coward. I have sat by and watched it all slip away, watched him getting further and further from me, saw my hold slipping--slipping--slipping, and saw him getting restless. I've seen one awful--" she paused, shuddered, and cried, "Oh, you know, father, that other dreadful affair. I saw that rise, burn itself out and then this one--" she turned away and her body shook. In a minute she was herself: "I'm foolish I suppose, but I've never talked it out before. I won't do it again. I'm all right now." She took his hands and continued: