“I think we shall not consider a portrait of Peg just now, Mr. Gaspard.” Even in his present condition Gaspard got the full effect of the icy chill in her voice. Indeed, the whole table got it. The children gazed at her with wide eyes, questioning. They knew the tone and all its implications. The Colonel hastened to man the breach.
“Very kind of you, Gaspard, I’m sure. We greatly appreciate the offer. Some time a little later—when—a—things have—a—straightened out—a bit, you know. When you get settled down. You understand?”
“Quite. Or, at least, I think I do. I am not really quite sure.” Gaspard’s tone was a little weary. His voice had gone quite flat. But into his eyes a steely light had come, as he turned them full on the face of his hostess. That lady did not flinch. No one had ever accused her of lack of courage.
“A little thought, a very little thought will show Mr. Gaspard the impropriety of my little girl going to his house for the purpose suggested, or indeed for any purpose whatever.” The cold, incisive, deliberate tone cut like razor-edge steel, clean to the bone.
Gaspard shivered as from a knife thrust. His face went white, his lips blue. For two seconds there was silence, then the Colonel took command of the situation. In a voice of quiet, grave dignity he said, “Mr. Gaspard has made us a very kind and very courteous offer, which I most gladly accept.” The gallant little Colonel was in his best forlorn-hope form. “The arrangements for sittings will be made later. There are, however, matters which must be spoken of, and tonight. Perhaps the children will retire. It is their bed-time, my dear. Good-night, Peg. Paul, say good-night to your father.”
From one to another Peg flitted with a good-night kiss. With a grave and puzzled air Paul followed her example, reserving his father to the last.
“Good-night, Daddy,” he said in a clear, firm voice, putting his arms about his father’s neck. His father threw an arm about the boy and drew him close in a quick, strong embrace, and for a moment or two held him there.
“I’m awful, awfully glad you’re home, Daddy,” said the boy, standing up straight, with a hand on his father’s shoulder. “I’m awfully glad. I’m coming home tomorrow after lessons.” The boy, standing very straight, let his eyes pass from one to the other of the group about the table, as if challenging each to dispute his announcement.
A warm flush rose to Gaspard’s face. “Good-night, boy,” he said in a husky, hurried voice. “Not tomorrow, Paul, if Mrs. Pelham will allow you to remain a day or so—” his eyes were turned in wistful appeal to that lady.
“Oh, surely, Mr. Gaspard,” she hastened to reply. “We shall be glad to keep Paul as long as he can stay.”