“Margaret, I’ve something else to tell you.”
She came back to him quickly. He said nothing at first, but looked her all over with that father’s look that gives love instead of taking it, protects instead of being covetous; he was noticing not only her pallor, but the calmness of her features and the new sweet serenity of their expression.
“I passed Raymond Bercy as I came in, little girl. He was down there by the carriage entrance, standing perfectly still, and I could see that he was much moved and preoccupied. He bowed to me, and made a step toward me, as if to speak to me, but it was too late. I had already passed him.”
Margaret did not seem at all impressed by this news, and answered:
“He had been here, and was just going away, father.”
“I see. And what did he want?”
“He wanted to be with you to-morrow at the trial, and help you.”
“What an idea! In what way could he help?”
“As a son.”
“As a son? Then he had made a proposal to you?”