Like Leigh she stood back, unsympathetic, but she was a little frightened, too.
“Humph! Took her out to supper, eh?” Mr. Carter thundered. “I reckon he thought he’d better! I gave him a piece of my mind.”
“Oh, papa! He was as white as a sheet.” William’s mother pressed her handkerchief against her shaking lips. “He didn’t know, of course. He wasn’t to blame, dear—you shouldn’t have done it!”
“Wasn’t to blame?” Mr. Carter blazed with wrath. “Didn’t he marry that ballet-dancer? Didn’t he bring a French ballet-dancer home here and foist her on a decent, respectable family? He wasn’t to blame, you say? By Jove, I wish he was small enough to thrash!”
He was still walking up and down. As he swung around, Leigh faced him.
“She’s a lovely creature!” the boy cried passionately. “That dance was beautiful—everybody thought so!”
“Oh, Leigh!” gasped his mother. “Dr. Fanshawe was ashamed to look at it!”
“Old idiot!” cried Leigh. “You’re all making her unhappy—any one can see it. Nothing but criticism from morning until night—I call it cruel!”
Mr. Carter stared at him a moment in amazed incredulity. Then he jeered.
“Hear, hear!” he cried. “Wisdom from the mouths of babes and sucklings! Do you want to marry a ballet-dancer, too, sir?”