“Well?” she inquired, looking up. “Did you get it?”
“I did, indeed. A beauty, Delight.”
“A flivver?”
“Not at all. A very handsome car.” He told her the make, and she flushed again with pleasure.
“Joy and rapture!” she said. “Did you warn him I am to drive it?”
“I did. He suggests that Graham give you some lessons.”
“Graham!”
“Why not?”
“He'll be bored to insanity. That's all. You—you didn't suggest it, did you, daddy?”
With all her adoration of her father, Delight had long recognized under his real spirituality a certain quality of worldly calculation. That, where it concerned her, it was prompted only by love did not make her acceptance of it easier.