She ignored that remark.
“Levis,” she said, “I have been thinking, as I sat here alone just now, about the children’s looks, and wondering at Gracie’s being so entirely different from those of the other two; Max and Lulu resemble you so strongly that they would, I think, be recognized anywhere as your son and daughter: because they have your hair and eyes, indeed all your features—and of course I think them very handsome, noble-looking children—” she interpolated with a another bright, winsome smile up into his face, “but Gracie, though quite as lovely in every respect, possesses an altogether different type of beauty; of character also.”
“Yes,” he said, in a meditative tone, “Grace is like her mother.”
“Her mother? Your first wife? You never mentioned her to me before.”
Her tone was inquiring, and he answered it.
“Because, my love, I feared—supposed at least—that you would hardly care to hear of her.”
“But I do. I love the children, and but for her we should not have had them; and she was so near and dear to them. If I knew about her, I should try to keep her memory green in their hearts. Oh, if I were going to die, I could not bear to think that my dear little Elsie would forget all about me.”
CHAPTER VIII.
“I can scarce bear to think of such a possibility,” the captain said a trifle huskily, and tightening his clasp of Violet’s slender waist, “it seems that one such loss should be enough in a lifetime. But it is just like my own sweet Violet to desire to have Grace’s children remember her with affection.”
“Her name was Grace?”