She came in and flung her hat down on the table, uncovering her lovely, spirited head. She was dressed in a pale-yellow, clinging garment that seemed to reveal every line of her small figure, and certainly displayed her ankles, in silk stockings as amazing as Emily’s.
“You’re awfully good people,” she said bitterly. “Mon Dieu! I’d rather meet some bad ones—who’d let me alone. You’re helping to make my husband hate me!”
Daniel’s face sobered.
“You’re doing William an injustice,” he said quietly. “I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. I’m very sure, too, that I’m not trying to make him.”
She lifted her eyes slowly to his face and scanned it. Then she bit her lip.
“No, I don’t think you are,” she replied with emphasis; “but your mother does, and so does your father. And there’s no need of it—there’s enough without that!”
Daniel, who was still standing, leaned against the mantel, supporting himself and watching her gravely, unsmilingly.
“Fanchon,” he said gently, “you don’t understand. It’s been your misfortune to come to us without knowing us. We’re just old-fashioned, stodgy people, and you amaze us. You’re like a bird of paradise in a chicken-yard. Give us a little time, Fanchon.” He paused and then added soberly: “My brother loves you.”
She tossed her head, her bosom rising and falling stormily.
“Leigh does!” she cried in a choked voice. “The boy—Leigh!”