Mrs. Burnham’s expression altered. “You think you do, Evelyn,” she corrected gently.
“No, Mother.” Evelyn’s gaze never shifted. “I love René and I intend to marry him.”
“Need we go into that?” Mrs. Burnham smiled, not unkindly. “Suppose for to-night we just admit the first premise—you love him.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Evelyn rested her hands against the table at her back and steadied herself. “René,” she blushed hotly. “René loves me.”
Mrs. Burnham gazed steadily at her daughter and a sudden wave of tenderness swept over her, and for a second the charming picture—Evelyn in her straight young beauty and her tattered Belgian costume—was blurred from sight by blinding tears. Unconscious of her mother’s emotion, Evelyn waited a moment before speaking.
“René loves me and I love René,” she reiterated. “Therefore; Mother, will you announce our engagement to-morrow morning?”
Mrs. Burnham sat bolt upright. “Will I do what?” she demanded.
“Announce my engagement to René La Montagne.”
“My dear child,” Mrs. Burnham raised her hands in horror. “Utterly unthought of!”
“But why? René and I have thought of it, and we are the most concerned.”