"I have been looking forward to the day when I should see my son's wife," said the elder Cruger, somewhat pompously to Hélène, as he greeted her with outstretched hand. He could never get over the idea that formalism was the soul of function.
"I have always felt that I would demand a great deal of her," went on Mr. Cruger, in his best after-dinner manner. "I thank you for giving me everything I could desire! You are the daughter of a man whose charity and beneficence we all respect and admire, and—" Here he paused to take breath.
"Thank you," said Hélène simply. She was surprised that he did not kiss her instead of making a formal speech.
"I know that father means what he says," remarked Beverly to his mother; "but I do wish he would say it in a less stereotyped manner."
"Hush!" replied his mother, "your father is speaking again."
"I want your married life to begin auspiciously," continued the elder Cruger, as if he had not been interrupted. "So I have made what I consider to be a sacrifice for you. I had hoped to retire from public life, but I have altered my decision. I shall again represent my country in a foreign land."
Hélène gratefully acknowledged the sacrifice, although she did not quite see where it came in. She had heard that most American representatives at foreign courts managed rather to enjoy life than otherwise.
"When I go abroad as hostess in the Embassy that Mr. Cruger represents," Mrs. Cruger said, taking up the thread of the conversation, "I want my son's wife to share my honours. A sweet young woman, far younger than I, is almost a—a—"
"A charming necessity," added Mr. Cruger, who made it a habit to finish his wife's sentences.
"Yes, a charming necessity," echoed his wife, and, then she continued: