I think sometimes if I
could only hear his voice once more, and see him smiling at me
as he used to smile--and I must not speak of him, I must not
even mention him. It is unjust, it is cruel. I do not want to
live with people who will not let me think of my father."
"You may speak of him to me, Madelon----"
"To you?" she said, interrupting him; "ah, you knew him--you
know how he loved me. But Aunt Barbara--she will not let me
even mention his name."
"Then she is very wrong and very foolish," Graham answered
hastily. "Listen to me, Madelon. You are making yourself
miserable for nothing. To begin with, if everybody in the room
to-night knew who your father was, and all about him, I don't
suppose it would make the least difference; and as for the
rest, you have no occasion to concern or distress yourself
about anything in your father's life, except what relates to
yourself. Whatever he may have been to others, he was the
kindest and most loving of fathers to you, and that is all you
need think about."
"But Aunt Barbara----"
"Never mind Aunt Barbara.
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