“You look as if you were beginning to feel at home,” said her father. “Oh, I hope we shall have many, many happy years together.”
Marguerite’s heart was too full to reply. She looked at him with eyes like her mother’s, only they were a little deeper.
Zay came flying up stairs.
“Have I neglected you all the afternoon? We found a bad rent in my pretty frock and Aunt Kate had to change the skirt. Then I wanted to write some letters and the days are so short.”
She kissed her mother rapturously; then went and sat on her father’s knee.
“And the Chichesters want us to dinner tomorrow and a little dance afterward. It is Will’s last nibble at pleasure. Oh, why didn’t you make him choose some real business, you naughty father, so he could have stayed at home like a respectable citizen.”
“And had a sweetheart. Then what would you have done?”
“Looked up a sweetheart also. Oh, must he go Wednesday night?”
“Think what a nice long holiday he has had!”
“And think of three desolate years!”