said Roseleaf, after a
strained pause. "I have noticed of late that your father has some
trouble on his mind."

She started suddenly.

"Ah!" was all she said.

"And I have wondered if there was anything I could do to--to aid
_him_--to relieve him. Because, I would like it very much if I could, on
account of--of--"

She looked up inquiringly.

"I have been so much a member of your family, in a certain way, that a
grief like this appeals strongly to me," he said, haltingly.

She paled slightly as she repeated his words.

"A grief?"

"Well, distress, annoyance, whatever it may be called. If there is
anything I can do, I shall be more than happy."

The girl sat for some moments with her eyes on the ground.

"He _is_ troubled," she said, finally. "I am glad to talk with you, for
I cannot get him to tell me anything. He is greatly troubled, and I am
worried beyond expression. I can't understand it. He has always confided
in me so thoroughly, but now he shakes his head and says it is nothing,
trying to look brighter even when the tears are almost ready to fall.
What can it be, Mr. Roseleaf? He has no companions outside of his office
and this house? He sits by himself, and isn't a bit like he used to be
and every day I think he grows worse."

Roseleaf asked if Daisy had talked much with her sister about it.

"No," she said, with a headshake. "I don't believe Millie has noticed
anything. She is so occupied with her literary matters"--there was a
sarcastic touch upon the word, that did not escape the listener--"she
has no time for such things. I hope you won't think I mean to criticise
her," added the young girl, with a blush. "I know you care a great deal
for my sister, and--"

She stopped in the midst of the sentence, leaving it unfinished. And
Roseleaf thought how interesting this girl had become.

"Let me confide in you, Daisy," he said, in his softest tone. "I do not
care 'a great deal,' nor even a very little for your sister. You see,"
he went on, in response to the startled look that greeted him, "I am to
be a novelist. To be successful in writing fiction, I have been told
that I ought to be in love--just once--myself. And I came here and tried
very hard to fall in love with Miss Millicent; and I simply cannot."

Daisy's fresh young laugh rang out on the air of the evening.

"Poor man!" she cried, with mock pity. "And hasn't she tried to help
you?"

"No. She hasn't. And as soon as I get the work done