"
She rose and went to get the board. So the games were resumed, and part at
least of their old affection came to life. But only a part. It could never
be quite the same again.
And though he saw little of Deborah, slowly, almost unawares to them both,
she assumed the old place she had had in his home--as the one who had been
right here in the house through all the years since her mother had died,
the one who had helped and never asked help, keeping her own troubles to
herself. He fell back into his habit of going before dinner to his
daughter's bedroom door to ask whether she would be home that night. At one
such time, getting no response and thinking Deborah was not there, he
opened the door part way to make sure. And he saw her at her dresser,
staring at herself in the glass, rigid as though in a trance. Later in the
dining room he heard her step upon the stairs. She came in quietly and sat
down; and as soon as dinner was over, she said her good-nights and left the
house. But when she came home at midnight, he was waiting up for her. He
had foraged in the kitchen, and on his study table he had set out some
supper. While she sat there eating, her father watched her from his chair.
"Things going badly in school?" he inquired.
"Yes," she replied. There was silence.
"What's wrong?"
"To-night we had a line of mothers reaching out into the street. They had
come for food and coal--but we had to send most of them home empty-handed.
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