“So do I, papa, if it comes to that! You haven’t told us yet how you came to meet Miss Allen.”
“It was last spring when I went to Bermuda. She and her mother were on the steamer. I saw a good deal of them then; and I have since seen them in New York, which is now really their home.”
“Have they ever been here?—I have known Allens.”
“I’m quite sure you have never met them, Fanny. Since Adelaide’s father died they have travelled much of the time.”
“So your frequent trips to New York haven’t been wholly philanthropy and business! You speak her name as though you had got well used to it. It’s funny, but I’ve never known Adelaides. Have you ever known an Adelaide, Wayne?”
“A lot of them; so have you if you will think of it,” answered her brother. He saw that his father was growing restive and he knew that Fanny was going too far. There was a point at which she could vex those who loved her most, but being wiser than she seemed she usually knew it herself. She pushed away the bonbon dish and slapped her hands together lightly.
“Wayne,” she cried, “what are we thinking of? We must see her picture! Now, papa! you know you have it in your pocket!”
“Certainly, we must see Miss Allen’s picture,” echoed Wayne, relieved at his sister’s change of tone.
“Later—later!” but Colonel Craighill’s annoyance passed and he smiled again.
“It isn’t dignified in you to invite teasing, papa. You know you have her photograph. Out with it, please!”