"Do you mean to say you have brought him up in this wilderness?" asked Mrs. Montrose in a whisper I heard. "He is perfect." And then she added, after a quick glance at my face, "Quite perfect, for he can blush."
My father turned aside as if he had no stomach for soft speeches, and asked them to sit on the bank, because it was pleasanter out of doors. And though Mrs. Montrose said plainly that she wished to see how we lived, he only smiled and led her to a seat under a tree. No one can withstand my father. It seems to me, now that I see him with other people, that he is far finer, more courteous, more commanding than any of them.
"Bring us the wine, Francis," he said to me, and I went in to find he had set it out on a salver in a beautiful decanter I had never seen, and that there were glasses and bits of bread all ready, as if he had expected guests. I brought it out, and then went back for the little glasses; and my father served them all. She held her glass in her hand, and I feared she would not drink; but suddenly, behind the others, she lifted the glass, bowed to me, and a quick smile ran over her face. And then she set it to her lips, still looking at me. It was I who took the glasses away, and hers, which had not been emptied, I left inside my tent. (O, you know, my friend, my other self, what these things are to me! only you! only you!)
"This is Homeric," said Mrs. Montrose. "Bread and wine. The flesh is happily absent."
"Did you expect the blood of 'muttons, beefs, or goats'?" asked my father. "Sacrifice may come later."
Then followed a great deal of talk; but I have not been used to hearing so many people speaking at once, and I could scarcely follow, and cannot at all remember it. But while I sat fearing every instant that they would go, my heart bounded again, for Mrs. Montrose asked us both to row over to their camp and lunch with them. My father at once refused, sternly I thought, but he added, without looking at me,—
"I cannot answer for my son."
"O, yes, I will go," I cried. I must have been very eager, for they all laughed; all except my father, and he replied, "So be it."
They said good-by to him, and fluttered down to the wharf; and I pushed off my boat with the rest.
"Good-by!" I called to him, but he only waved his hand and turned away.