With a final squeeze the girl tore herself from the Beaubien’s reluctant arms and hurried to the little kitchen. “What is it to-night, Jude?” she demanded, catching the domestic in a vigorous embrace.
“Hist!” said Jude, holding up a finger. “It’s a secret. I’m afraid you’d tell him.”
“Not a word––I promise.”
“Well, then, liver and bacon, with floating island,” she whispered, very mysteriously.
“Oh, goody!” cried Carmen. “He just loves them both!”
Returning to the little parlor, Carmen encountered the fixed gaze of both the Beaubien and Father Waite. “Well?” she demanded, stopping and looking from one to the other.
“What about that two dollars?” said the Beaubien, in a tone of mock severity.
“Oh,” laughed the girl, running to the woman and seating herself in the waiting lap, “he told, didn’t he? Can’t I ever trust you with a secret?” in a tone of rebuke, turning to the man.
“Surely,” he replied, laughing; “and I should not have divulged this had I not seen in the incident something more than mere chance––something meant for us all.”
Then he became serious. “I––I think I have seen the working of a stupendous mental law––am I not right?” addressing the girl. “You saw a need, and met it, unsolicited. You found your own in another’s good.”