father.

But Marie was up to give him his breakfast. 'What is the meaning of
this, George?' she said.

'Father says that I shall be better away from this,--so I'm going
away.'

'And why will you be better away?' To this George made no answer.
'It will be terrible if you quarrel with your father. Nothing can
be so bad as that.'

'We have not quarrelled. That is to say, I have not quarrelled with
him. If he quarrels with me, I cannot help it.'

'It must be helped,' said Marie, as she placed before him a mess of
eggs which she had cooked for him with her own hands. 'I would
sooner die than see anything wrong between you two.' Then there was
a pause. 'Is it about me, George?' she asked boldly.

'Father thinks that I love you: --so I do.'

Marie paused for a few minutes before she said anything farther.
She was standing very near to George, who was eating his breakfast
heartily in spite of the interesting nature of the conversation. As
she filled his cup a second time, she spoke again. 'I will never do
anything, George, if I can help it, to displease my uncle.'

'But why should it displease him? He wants to have his own way in
everything.'