"Where are you going?" he asked.
I thought the question a strange one, and replied, a little curtly,
"To Saratoga, of course."
"Oh!" It seemed new to him. Then he repeated my words, in a
questioning kind of a way, as if his mind were not altogether
satisfied on the subject.
"To Saratoga?"
"Yes, sir. To Saratoga. We always go there. We shall close the
season at Newport this year."
"Who else is going?" My father's manner was strange. I had never
seen him just in the mood he then appeared to be.
"Jane is going, of course; and so is Emily. And we are trying to
persuade mother, also. She didn't go last year. Won't you spend a
week or two with us? Now do say yes."
My father shook his head at this last proposal, and said, "No,
child!" very decidedly.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I have something of more importance to think about than
Saratoga and its fashionable follies."
"Business! business!" said I, impatiently. "It is the Moloch,
father, to which you sacrifice every social pleasure, every home
delight, every good! Already you have laid health and happiness upon
the bloody altars of this false god!"
A few quick flushes went over his pale face, and then its expression
became very sad.
"Anna," he said, after a brief silence, during which even my
unpracticed eyes could see that an intense struggle was going on in
his mind, "Anna, you will have to give up your visit to Saratoga
this year.
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