His wife very nearly went over backwards.
She had thought she was getting used to Ross, and had been sure she was quite prepared for anything he might do or say that smacked of the unusual, which seemed to be one of his peculiar gifts; but this far surpassed anything yet. She had known him very well for nearly three years and while he had once, long ago, told her of a previous marriage, he had never mentioned the existence of a child; or intimated in any way that there were any ties to have drawn him to America.
But that gleam of fun was not in her brown eyes for nothing, and so she laughed. And it was such a merry peal of unrestrained mirth that Ross rose, deeply offended.
"There is nothing at all ludicrous in this, I assure you, Elinor. It's quite serious!"
"I am quite ready to believe it is. But, Ross, I.... Please think for just a moment. I can't help laughing. It is rather funny!"
Then he smiled himself. One of his greatest charms was the ability to view his own performances, as it were, from a detached perspective.
"You're quite right there, I'll have to admit. To leave you in ignorance of any family, and suddenly, after months and years of such ignorance, produce a daughter!"
"You say a daughter? Are there," Elinor's eyes danced mischievously, "are there any sons you have concealed at home, in case I should admire a passing small boy? Are you going to spend the rest of your life thus immediately granting my idle wishes?"
"No, I'm afraid I've done my very best. I'm no genie of the lamp, although it does look a bit like it."
"Then sit down and tell me all about her," she patted his empty chair invitingly. "Begin at the very beginning and tell me everything you can about your daughter."