"
"Did he seem--do you think that _he_ doubts?"
"Why?"
Irene kept silence, feeling that her impression was too vague to be
imparted.
"Try," said her father, "to dismiss the matter from your thoughts.
It doesn't concern you. You will never hear an allusion to it from
Jacks. Happen what may"--his voice paused, with suggestive
emphasis--"you have nothing to do with it. It doesn't affect your
position or your future in the least."
As she withdrew, Irene was uneasily conscious of altered relations
with her father. The change had begun when she wrote to him
announcing her engagement; since, they had never conversed with the
former freedom, and the shadow now hanging over them seemed to chill
their mutual affection. For the first time, she thought with serious
disquiet of the gulf between old and new that would open at her
marriage, of all she was losing, of the duties she was about to
throw off--duties which appeared so much more real, more sacred,
than those she undertook in their place. Her father's .widowerhood
had made him dependent upon her in a higher degree than either of
them quite understood until they had to reflect upon the
consequences of parting; and Irene now perceived that she had
dismissed this consideration too lightly. She found difficulty in
explaining her action, her state of mind, her whole self. Was it
really only a few weeks ago? To her present mood, what she had
thought and done seemed a result of youth and inexperience, a
condition long outlived.
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