“My boy,” he said, with a winning smile, as they stood in the hall. “My boy,” he laid his hand lightly on Erard’s thin shoulder. “Believe me, I want to do the best thing for you. And you must take the money, two or three hundred at least, you must—”
Erard shook his head, as if annoyed, and said in his most mincing tones,—
“When you are in Rome, can you find out for me whether they have taken away that Francia in the Borghese? I’ll write you a note of it. Good-by.”
Mr. Anthon went out into the dull March twilight, sad at heart. “He’ll have to beg of others, and that will be worse.” He reflected that his “doing the best” for Erard was due largely to his sister-in-law’s nagging. “Poor John,” he murmured, “what a wife!”
He tried to excuse himself on the score of his niece. “If it hadn’t been for Adela, I wouldn’t have thought of it.” For, however liberally he might regard Erard, he couldn’t welcome him as Adela’s husband.
CHAPTER VIII
Miss Molly Parker was a unifying force in the Anthon family. Mrs. Anthon and Molly had discovered two common passions, dress and food. They would spend long mornings driving about to shops, discussing bargains and prices and subtleties of style. And they had tested and classified a long list of restaurants. Molly was a gourmand; Mrs. Anthon called herself “a hearty eater.” Whatever was amiable and warm-hearted in Mrs. Anthon, the enthusiastic young woman brought out. “Molly really likes her,” Miss Anthon admitted gratefully, “and mamma behaves better when she is about.”
Sebastian Anthon, also, in his quiet fashion, paid tribute to the new friend. He took her on long walks, and frequently of a Sunday morning he appeared in Passy with large boxes of chocolate from the Coupe d’Or. The two roamed over old Paris, followed the shop windows, and knew the recesses of many a print-shop. “Your dear old uncle has walked his feet off,” Miss Parker would exclaim on their return. “He’s such a dear!”
Molly Parker knew all about Erard and Wilbur, about the Water-Hoister and the new company. Miss Anthon spent many a morning, these early spring days, in the little garden behind the Passy house, finding there a peaceful atmosphere of rest and naturalness. The studio had grown loathsome since Erard had delivered his opinion on her case. A few days after the family conference Miss Anthon brought out with her Wilbur’s first report of affairs in Chicago. It was buoyant. Miss Parker sighed a little enviously.
“How nice it must be to be rich!”