He had said good-bye and was on his way out, when Francesca came down from Rose's room. Seeing her, he waited for a moment. Isabel had gone into the library and closed the door.
"Whence this haste?" queried Madame, with a lightness which was just then difficult to assume. "Were you going without seeing me?"
"I had feared I would be obliged to," he returned, gallantly. "I was calling upon my future daughter-in-law," he added, in a low tone, as they went out on the veranda.
Madame sighed and sank gratefully into the chair he offered her. In the broad light of day, she looked old and worn.
"Well," continued the Colonel, with an effort to speak cheerfully, "the blow has fallen."
"So I hear," she rejoined, almost in a whisper. "What tremendous readjustments the heedless young may cause!"
"Yes, but we mustn't deny them the right. The eternal sacrifice of youth to age is one of the most pitiful things in nature—human nature, that is. The animals know better."
"Would you remove all opportunity for the development of character?" she inquired, with a tinge of sarcasm.
"No, but I wouldn't deliberately furnish it. The world supplies it generously enough, I think. Allison didn't ask to be born," he went on, with a change of tone, "and those who brought him into the world are infinitely more responsible to him than he is to them."
"One-sided," returned Madame, abruptly. "And, if so, it's the only thing that is. What of the gift of life?"