"Don't use that," he said, touching the box.
"You know I detest make-up."
"Oh, that!" She turned to see what he was talking about. "That
rouge belongs to Margaret Brewster."
McIntyre promptly changed the conversation. "Have you had your
breakfast?" he asked.
"Yes; Grimes took the tray down some time ago." Helen watched her
father fidget with his watch fob for several minutes, then asked
with characteristic directness. "What do you wish?"
"To see that you have proper medical attention if you are ill," he
returned promptly. "How would a week or ten days at Atlantic City
suit you and Barbara?"
"Not at all." Helen sat up from her reclining position on the
pillows. "You forget, father, that we have a house-guest; Margaret
Brewster is not leaving until May."
"I had not forgotten," curtly. "I propose that she go with us."
A faint "Oh!" escaped Helen, otherwise she made no comment, and
McIntyre, after contemplating her for a minute, looked away.
"Either go to Atlantic City with us, Helen, or resume your normal,
everyday life," he said shortly.
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