“I prefer to let father do it,” returned Mrs. Evringham decidedly. “He is a changed being of late, and we are as well situated as we could hope to be. I don't feel quite satisfied with the lining of the brougham, but some day I mean to speak of it.”
Eloise threw up both hands, but she laughed. She and her grandfather had an excellent understanding, and she knew that the mills of the gods were about to grind.
One evening the broker called his daughter-in-law into the library.
“I hope it isn't on business,” she remarked flippantly as she entered. “I tell you right at the start, father, I can't understand it.” Her eyes wandered about the room curiously. It was strange to her. She took up a woman's picture from the desk. “Who is this?” she asked.
“How do you like the face?” he returned.
The dark eyes and sweet mouth looked back at her. She frowned slightly. She did not like the situation in which she had found the photograph. It was far too intimate for a stranger, and made her a little nervous.
“If he is going to marry again, then good-by indeed!” she thought.
“I think it is rather sentimental,” she returned, with an air of engaging candor, “don't you? Just my first impression, you know; but it's a face I shouldn't trust. Who is it?”
“It is Jewel's mother,” returned the broker quietly, “my daughter Julia. Jewel brought it down last night, also a lot of little letters her mother had put in the pockets of the child's dresses when she packed them.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Evringham triumphantly. “Didn't I say she was sentimental? About that sort of thing my perceptions are always so keen.”