"Tell me! Is it Harold Sloane?"
"It is."
"Oh, dad." She sank back in her chair. "Oh, dad," she repeated.
"What's the matter with Sloane?" he demanded.
"Oh, nothing, nothing--it's all right--"
"It is, eh? How do you know it is?" His anxious eyes were still upon hers,
and he saw she was thinking fast and hard and shutting him completely out.
And it irritated him. "What do you know of this fellow Sloane?"
"Oh, nothing--nothing--"
"Nothing! Humph! Then why do you sit here and say it's all right? Don't
talk like a fool!" he exclaimed. He waited, but she said no more, and
Roger's exasperation increased. "He has money enough apparently--and
they'll spend it like March hares!"
Deborah looked up at him:
"What did Laura tell you, dear?"
"Not very much. I'm only her father. She had a dinner and dance on her
mind."
But Deborah pressed her questions and he gave her brief replies.
"Well, what shall we do about it?" he asked.
"Nothing--until we know something more." Roger regarded her fiercely.
"Why don't you go up and talk to her, then?"
"She's asleep yet--"
"Never mind if she is! If she's going to marry a chap like that and ruin
her life it's high time she was up for her breakfast!"
While he scanned his Sunday paper he heard Deborah in the pantry. She
emerged with a breakfast tray and he saw her start up to Laura's room. She
was there for over an hour. And when she returned to his study, he saw her
eyes were shining.
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