“I may not find gowns that will fit me,” she said.
“Thy needle will do the fitting.”
She sat, the happy tears in her handsome eyes, her hand in his, and gazed at the coming day.
“What!” said he—“thou wouldst weep!”
She kissed his fingers, put her dainty palm on his lips:
“Supposing thy sisters——”
She hesitated.
“I am taking thee home, Babette, to teach my sisters manners,” he said.
She laughed:
“And thy father, Horace?”