"Papa, the Major has done it!" exclaimed Elinor Coolidge, looking across at her father, who sat between Mrs. Milton and Fanny.
"Yes, he has done it," replied Mr. Coolidge, smiling the wooden smile which was of fair, carved ivory when reproduced on the beautiful face of his daughter. "I don't know what's come over the Major since this morning. He seemed to love that Englishman like a son, on board the Mauretania; but tonight he fairly jumped out of himself with joy when he heard Van Cotter's piece of news."
"I'm sure we were all as nice as we could be to Lord—to him," faltered Fanny Milton, who had drained the lake from her eyes when no one was looking, but only to make way, it seemed, for a new supply of salt water.
"Oh, speak for yourself, Fanny," said Mrs. Milton, with her exaggerated English accent. "As for me, I——"
"Why, Mamma, you were just lovely to him, every minute!" cried the girl, defending herself briskly. "If you weren't married, with a grown-up daughter, people might have thought you were in love with him yourself, sometimes."
"Nonsense!" retorted Fanny's mother, darting a furious look at her child. "The way you talk shows you're not grown up."
"I always thought he was the most conceited young man I ever saw," broke in Elinor Coolidge. "I could have boxed his ears often, and it would have served him right. I just enjoy this. It's like a play."
"Well, I think that's real mean of you, Elinor," said Fanny. "And I don't see how you can feel that way. He looks so pale—it makes me sick to think what he's got to go through, poor fellow, and he's so handsome! Did you ever see anything as beautiful as he looked just now when he went stalking by us with his head high, and his face pale, and his eyes like blue fire?"
"I certainly never saw a British 'Lord' as handsome. They don't make 'em like that," said good-looking Henry van Cotter; and then they all laughed—all except Fanny Milton. She was wondering what Lesley Dearmer would do, if she were here tonight, instead of tearing away towards Louisville as fast as an express train could carry her. Lesley had been Loveland's friend, in quite an unpretending, humble little way, knowing that she was no match for him, and never could be. But Lesley was a strange girl. She thought of such odd, original things to do. Would she do anything odd and original if she were here now? And if she did, would it be for or against the man who was down?