Again, upon the occasion of an impulsively planned motor trip and week-end to Long Beach, her intrusion had been so obvious.
"Want to join us, Alma?"
"Oh—yes—thank you, Louis."
"But I thought you and Leo were—"
"No, no. I'd rather go with you and mamma, Louis."
Even her mother had smiled rather strainedly. Louis' invitation, politely uttered, had said so plainly, "Are we two never to be alone, your mother and I?"
Oh, there was no doubt that Louis Latz was in love and with all the delayed fervor of first youth.
There was something rather throat-catching about his treatment of her mother that made Alma want to cry.
He would never tire of marveling, not alone at the wonder of her, but at the wonder that she was his.
"No man has ever been as lucky in women as I have, Carrie," he told her once in Alma's hearing. "It seemed to me that after—my little mother there couldn't ever be another—and now you!"