But--and we, the three who loved her, noted it with dismay--every day Miss Reinhart became more of a companion to my father.

She ingratiated herself by degrees.

At first it had been merely his breakfast, afterward she offered her services over his letters; she answered many of them in a clear, legible hand that pleased him, because it was so easily read.

Then his accounts.

I went in several times and found them seated at the table, side by side, with papers, ledgers and books, yet not so deeply engrossed but that every now and then they had a jest and a merry laugh.
Did he think of my mother during those hours?
Did her pale, sweet, wistful face ever come between him and that beautiful woman?
Then I noticed that he would say to her: "Come out for a few minutes, Miss Reinhart, out on the terrace here, and let us have some fresh air.