chattering group around her. It would also appear that her appetite
was flagging unusually, and once or twice he thought she darted an
angry look towards him.

As if something were burdening her mind, she at last left the table
hastily, before the others were through with their dessert.

As may be surmised, she sought her father's room. Receiving no response
to her knock, she entered and saw at a glance the confirmation of
her fears. Her father sat in an arm-chair with his head upon his
breast. A brandy bottle stood on the table beside him. At the
sound of her step he looked up for a moment with heavy eyes, and
mumbled:

"He ain't of your style, is he? Nor of mine, either. Froth and
mud!"

Ida gave a sudden stamp of rage and disgust, and whirled from the
room.

Van Berg happened to see her as she descended to the main hall-way,
and her face was so repulsive as to suggest to him the lines from
Shakespeare:


"In nature there's no blemish, but the mind;
None can be called deformed, but the unkind;
Virtue is beauty; but the beauteous--evil
Are empty trunks, o'er flourished by the devil."