“Poor girl!” he thought in mingled admiration and tenderness.
Had he but known! Had he but guessed at the struggles and the anguish of her masculine soul! Had he but heard the “Poor Father!” with which his daughter expressed to herself pity for his lack of understanding!...
The weeks passed rapidly and the day came at last when they were going to dine with the Chambannes.
Shortly after seven, Thérèse was putting on the heavy dark coat she wore when she went out in evening dress, when she heard a sudden outburst of discussion in the hall and someone knocked at her door.
“Come in!” she said.
Her father entered in his shirt sleeves. His white tie hung unfastened over his waistcoat.
“Do you know what is happening?” he exclaimed. “Your mother now thinks we have been too ready to accept this invitation of Mme. Chambannes; she says that we should have tried to find out more about her.... Find out!... Find out what, I ask you, and where?... All this because of a dinner that has no importance!... She wants us to put it off now, five minutes before we are due to leave the house. What can one do? I ask you! especially I fancy that you yourself did not take greatly to the lady?...”
“Phew!” Thérèse said doubtfully.
“You can guess where she gets such ideas,” M. Raindal went on, as he paced the room. “She gets them from those fellows! From the vestry!... Oh, she did deny it long.... And I have warned her that the next time they have the audacity to....”
He did not finish his sentence. Mme. Raindal entered the room, her corsage unfastened: