“Humph! you do, eh? And what effect will all this have on your prospects? Will the new-found parents approve the choice of the lovely heiress?”
“That remains to be seen, sir,” Espy answered, coloring deeply and half averting his face. “It is not many hours since the first meeting of mother and daughter after their long separation, and, of course, they have not yet been able to think beyond the present moment.”
“Well, well, my boy, I hope no objection will be raised; but if there should be, don’t you be too ready to give her up. And it’s my belief that she’ll stick to you through thick and thin.”
“I don’t know, sir; she might deem it her duty to wait for her mother’s consent,” Espy answered despondingly.
“Well, yes, maybe so. I remember she has a troublesome conscience, or streak of stubbornness, whichever you please to call it. But don’t borrow trouble. Many a one would think a rising young artist of good disposition, respectable family, and fine appearance not a very bad match even for an heiress,” remarked the elder gentleman, regarding his son with a proudly affectionate smile.
“If they could see him through his father’s eyes,” Espy said, returning the smile, more reassured and comforted by the fatherly flattery than he cared to own even to himself. But when he had retired to the solitude of his own room he presently returned to his bitter and desponding mood. How could he feel sure even that Floy might not in time be weaned from him by these new-found relatives in case they did not fancy the match, seeing that already she was so taken up with them that he was quite forgotten? The greater part of the night was spent in gratuitous self-torture, but toward morning he fell into a sound sleep, from which he did not wake till the sun was several hours high.
He started up with a confused feeling that something was wrong. Then it all came back to him in a flash—yesterday’s happy ending of Floy’s quest, with its attendant scenes.
His first emotion was, as before, one of keen sympathy in her abounding joy, but this was speedily replaced by the jealous pangs, the doubts and fears, from which sleep had brought him temporary relief. Upon inquiry he learned that his father, with whom the keeping of early hours was a life-long habit, had already breakfasted and gone out. Then the question suggested itself whether he himself should go, as usual, to Madame Le Conte’s to learn Floy’s plans for the day, and become her escort to the Exposition or elsewhere, if such were her pleasure.
He held the point in debate for a time, but finally decided to stay away for the morning at least, saying gloomily to himself: