Mr. Stone felt his body with his hand.
"I am not conscious of any pain," he said.
"Then you'll stay to dinner, dear, won't you?"
Mr. Stone's brow contracted as though he were trying to recall his past.
"I have had no tea," he said. Then, with a sudden, anxious look at his daughter: "The little girl has not come to me. I miss her. Where is she?"
The ache within Cecilia became more poignant.
"It is now two days," said Mr. Stone, "and she has left her room in that house--in that street."
Cecilia, at her wits' end, answered: "Do you really miss her, Father?"