So: “I think you are very likely right, sir,” said Stacey.
As a matter of fact, it cost him little to say this; for he found himself quite without interest in Bolshevism, the labor problem, or the Democratic maladministration.
As for Mr. Carroll, he gave his son a pleased, rather surprised smile, and presently dropped all problems. But Catherine looked across at Stacey with a strange startled expression.
After dinner they went into the library and Catherine poured coffee.
“I wish, Catherine,” Stacey exclaimed, with a touch of exasperation, “that you wouldn’t glance at me in such a confoundedly apprehensive way, as though you were afraid I might object to your pouring coffee here! I like it. How many times must I tell you?”
“Very well, Stacey, I’ll try to be bold,” she replied, a faint smile relieving the gravity of her face.
Mr. Carroll laughed approvingly. “You’re going to be a great help to me, son,” he said.
But Parker came in to tell Mr. Carroll that Long Distance was calling him on the ’phone; so Stacey and Catherine were left by themselves for a few minutes.
“Any one not knowing my father well might think, to hear him talk of Bolshevism and labor, that he was harsh,” Stacey observed. “He’s not. He’s not even bigoted, really.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s not!” Catherine exclaimed. “He’s the kindest man I’ve ever known.”