At fourteen years of age she had not heard of the man whose grey eyes and perfect shapeliness of body she inherited. The Scarisbricks, be sure, had allowed that episode to be hushed up. But the day was bound to come when she should hear of the Honourable Mrs. Causton and identify that lady with her mother. The day did come, no matter how; and, inwardly trembling but outwardly resolved, she sought her mother. Mrs. Chaffinger had just come with a cry out of a doze. Her daughter demanded to be told who the Honourable Mrs. Causton was. She was told that there was no such person.
"Then who was she?" the girl demanded. There were few of her questions to her mother that were not demands.
"Who's been telling you about her?"
That did not seem to Louie to matter. She repeated the question.
"She was a very great fool," Mrs. Chaffinger snapped. "Why aren't you with Mademoiselle?"
"Who was she besides being a very great fool?" the child persisted.
It had to come out.
"Then papa isn't my father?" Louie said, pale. All through her life she was pale in her moments of stress.
"I'm your mother, and I tell you to go to your French lesson at once."
But Louie did not move.