Digital heart book

"Your father seems to be a pretty good kind of a
father," said he. "Why don't he come to see you?" I
was ready with some dozen of reasons, and had more in
stock; but Myner, with that shrewdness which made him
feared and admired, suddenly fixed me with his eye-
glass and asked, "Ever press him?"
The blood came in my face. No, I had never pressed
him; I had never even encouraged him to come. I was
proud of him, proud of his handsome looks, of his kind,
gentle ways, of that bright face he could show when
others were happy; proud, too--meanly proud, if you
like--of his great wealth and startling liberalities.
And yet he would have been in the way of my Paris life,
of much of which he would have disapproved. I had
feared to expose to criticism his innocent remarks on
art; I had told myself, I had even partly believed, he
did not want to come; I had been, and still am,
convinced that he was sure to be unhappy out of
Muskegon; in short, I had a thousand reasons, good and
bad, not all of which could alter one iota of the fact
that I knew he only waited for my invitation.


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