With a gesture he indicated the door leading to the interior of the house.
Cara raised her head from her mother's knees, and her eyes glittered.
"But on this side let there be only sweetness, only charm, only that precious, beautiful weakness, before which I am on my knees always. As to this, that I can see the original of the portrait when I wish, that is a question! We are grains of sand scattered over the world by the wind of interesting voyages."
"Have you some plan of a journey again?" inquired Malvina, alarmed.
"Yes. It is in indistinct lines yet, but is becoming more definite every day. This will be the step of a giant—fleeing before that rod with which the all-mighty father is pleased to beat his children."
Again, with a gesture he pointed to the door leading to the more distant apartments, and in the short laugh which accompanied his last words there was sarcasm—almost hatred. At the same moment he met Cara's eyes, and asked:
"Why look at me, little one, in that way? There are eyes! curious, anxious, and as frightened as those of a hunted deer. Why so curious? What do you fear?"
Cara hid her face in her mother's dress, quickly.
"But how would it please you, mamma, to make a trip with me to
America?" called Irene from before the mirror.
She put up the last of her hair, fastened it with a fantastic pin, and said, turning toward her mother: