DEBORAH needed rest, he thought, for the bright attractive face of his daughter was looking rather pale of late, and the birthmark on her forehead showed a faint thin line of red.

One night at dinner, watching her, he wondered what was on her mind.

She had come in late, and though several times she had made an effort to keep up the conversation, her cheeks were almost colorless and more than once in her deepset eyes came a flash of pain that startled him.
"Look here.

What's the matter with you ?" he asked.

Deborah looked up quickly.
"I'd rather not talk about it, dad--" "Very well," he answered.