“Can you read all that?” he asked, doubtfully.
Miss Arnold said “Yes.”
“Jest like English?” he persisted.
She explained that she had had a French nurse when she was little, and afterward a French governess, and that she had always spoken French as she had English. He seemed to be immensely impressed by that and looked at her very intently and admiringly, and then he suddenly looked away, and said, in a changed tone:
“I never hed no French nurse fur Ellen. Lord! it wuz hard enough to get any kind in them days,” he said, regretfully. “But she’s been studyin’ French fur two years now—p’rhaps she speaks almost as good as you do by this time—she’s mighty smart.”
Miss Arnold looked up quickly at the honest, kindly face above her with the hopeful expression in the eyes, and some sudden impulse made her say, quite cheerfully and assuringly, “Oh, yes—of course.”
She was just going to add that she would go to the office and send someone to look for Miss Oldham, when a slender, rather pretty girl passed the library door, hesitated, peering through the half-light, and then came swiftly toward them.
With a cry of inexpressible tenderness and delight the old man sprang toward her.
“Ellen!” he said, “Ellen!”
She clung to him for a few moments and then drew off rather shyly and awkwardly, with a sort of mauvaise honte which struck disagreeably on Miss Arnold, and looked inquiringly and almost defiantly from her father to the girl watching them.