But not only this; it was here that she had seen most
of her father; they had spent hours together here, while Mrs. Eveleigh
attended to her household duties, or amused herself with her friends,
or retired for her nap. And whether father and daughter talked, or
sat, he with his paper or his writing, she with her book, each felt a
companionship in the other. Elizabeth often spoke her thoughts freely to
any one who happened to be within hearing when the mood for speech came
over her; but as to her feelings, her father understood those best. This
was partly on account of his quickness of comprehension, which supplied
much that she did not utter, and partly because there came to her times
when her father seemed like a second self, and silence grew unnatural.
But that morning speech, evidently, was not easy to her. For, although
she had gone to him as a matter of course, her perplexity seemed to grow
greater as she sat down by the desk at which he was making up some
accounts. It seemed to her that her life was no longer free and simple;
a dreadful force had come into contact with it and, as she felt, made it
more unworthy.
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