The Thirtieth of June

Allison's fork dropped with a sharp clatter on his plate. "Dad! What do you mean?"

"No house is large enough for two families," repeated the Colonel, with an unconscious, parrot-like accent.

"Why, Dad! We've always stood together--surely you won't desert me now?"

The old man's eyes softened with mist. He could not trust himself to meet the clear, questioning gaze of his son.

"I can't understand," Allison went on, doubtfully. "Is it possible-- could she-did-Isabel--?"

"No" said the Colonel, firmly, still avoiding the questioning eyes. "She didn't!"

"Of course she didn't," returned Allison, fully satisfied. "She couldn't--she's not that kind. What a brute I was even to think it! But why, Dad? Please tell me why!"

"Francesca asked me this afternoon if I would come to her and Rose, after the--afterwards, you know, and I promised."

"If you promised, I suppose that settles it," remarked Allison, gloomily, "but I wish you hadn't. I can understand that they would want you, too, for of course they'll be desperately lonely after Isabel goes away."

A certain peace crept into the old man's sore heart. Surely there was something to live for still.

"I hope you didn't tell Aunt Francesca you'd stay there always," Allison was saying, anxiously.

"No," answered the Colonel, with a smile; "there was no limit specified."

"Then we'll consider it only a visit and a short one at that--just until they get a little used to Isabel's being away. This is your rightful place, Dad, and Isabel and I both want you--don't ever forget that!"