She blushed like a school-girl discovered in some fault.
“I’m afraid I shall make a very bad wife,” she said, “for I shall always remain attached to the old home. Everything that goes on here is very dear to me, dwells in my very heart.”
He could not keep from murmuring:
“Dear child!”
“And Maurice,” she replied. “Is he pleased with his new place, my roses and the window? If I were he, I should be enchanted to work near you.”
She had a way of following him in his preoccupations and preparing the way for confidences.
“It was about Maurice I came to talk with you. We had a discussion together just now. I was perhaps a little quick.”
“You, father?”
“As a matter of fact, I clashed with him. He left the house in anger, and anger is a bad counsellor. Go and find him, Margaret. You’ll know how to bring him back.”
She rose briskly without the slightest hesitation.