“Of course she does, father! She’s half American,” replied William.
But the laugh had broken the ice. Mr. Carter looked more narrowly at his daughter-in-law, and discovered that her eyes were lovely. She raised them to his now with a look that suddenly recalled William’s description. They were soft and brown and tender, with something sylvan and untamed in their lucid depths.
“By George, a wild fawn, of course, of course!” thought Mr. Carter, and he offered her his arm.
She took it, clinging to him a little with a touch at once soft and confiding. There was the ghost of an elusive fragrance in her hair, and in the light veil that floated across his shoulder. It suggested violets wet with dew, and even Mr. Carter was intuitively aware that there was something unique, something distinguished and amazing about the small figure, so slight and graceful, and the delicately poised head.
“Of course I speak English,” she murmured softly in his ear as they threaded the crowd, followed by William and Daniel and two porters with innumerable bags. “Mais, hélas! I wanted to speak French to you because I love it. It’s the language of my heart, and you”—there was a lovely tremor in her voice—“you’re so good to me here in this smoky place—like a father! I—oh, I know—je t’adore!”
Mr. Carter, unaccustomed to the language of extravagance, had a pleasurable feeling of elation. Hitherto, his performances in the social line had been unappreciated, even in the bosom of his family. He had frequently felt like a dancing bear, but now all was changed; this little French girl knew a good thing when she saw it.
“That’s all right, you’re William’s wife,” said Mr. Carter, “and I’m mighty fond of William. His mother thinks he’s a chip of the moon, I’ll tell you that!”
“Tiens!” The girl drew in her breath quickly. “Then I’m afraid—she will never like me!”
Mr. Carter, who felt that this time he had really put his foot in it, covered his confusion by hustling her into a waiting taxi. Daniel and he had secured one, but it was necessary to take another for the hand-luggage, and Daniel rode home in that, alone with the bags and umbrellas, while his father and William sat with the bride.
Daniel, who had exchanged a word or two with his brother as they crossed the station together, was aware of William’s uneasiness. In the familiar station, confronted with his father and his brother, and all the old realities of his home life, William must have suffered some kind of a shock. He had even said, rather thickly, as they walked along: