“I suppose I am!”
Mr. Carter slowed his steps to suit his lame son’s gait. He was moody, and he had his morning paper done up like a club in his hand. He slashed viciously at the church snowball as they reached it.
“My Lord, to think of that lovely girl—and what I’ve got for a daughter-in-law!” he growled.
Daniel, who understood the process of his father’s mind without asking any questions, said nothing.
“I’ve got a nickelette-show, a ballet-dancer, a runaway-with-a-gambler daughter-in-law, that’s what I’ve got!”
They had reached the street now, and Daniel checked him.
“Hush, father!” the young man said gently. “Some one will hear you.”
“Hear me?” bawled Mr. Carter. “Hear me? Drat it! D’you suppose the whole town doesn’t know? I met Dr. Barbour when I came out of the house just now. He says the Bulls, those new people at the corner of Hill Street, brought her home last night at one o’clock—I mean this morning—in a motor. What d’you suppose they’ll say?”
“Perhaps they’ve got some sense and won’t say anything,” suggested Daniel, thinking of the prayer-book and Virginia’s face.
“They told Barbour, and he’ll tell every one—and it isn’t twelve hours old.”