At eleven o'clock Miss Gastonguay's brougham stopped before the Mercer house, and the coachman, pulling up his horses, looked over his shoulder, to see whether Derrice was opening the door. She was, having been told by Miss Gastonguay that, while a coachman was a necessary evil, a footman was a blot on modern civilisation.
The man watched the girlish figure hurrying up the steps, waited until he heard the door open, then, with a disapproving smile at the dull, dark house, drove quickly away.
Derrice, excited and refreshed by her visit, and the attention she had received, almost fell into her husband's arms. "Oh, Justin, have I kept you up?"
"No," he said, and he led the way to the dining-room, where the gas was burning brightly, and a book was lying face downward on the table.
"Look at my flowers; are they not delightful?" and she displayed a bouquet of roses and geraniums.
"Very delightful."
"I've had a good time,—such a good time, but who are those people? I could not ask many questions, and I had no time with Mr. Huntington. I thought perhaps you would not like my going there. Miss Gastonguay was not very polite to your mother, but I don't think she means all she says," and she paused doubtfully.
Justin scarcely heard what she said. He was absorbed in examining her flushed, charming face, her tumbled hair, her youthful self-possession, with its touch of timidity. Not since they had come to Rossignol had he seen her so excited as she was at present.
"Did you mind my going?" she asked.
"No; nothing you could have done would have given me greater pleasure."