“Oh, I know these stairs, father.”
“That's so; I suppose you do. All ready, Mr. Halloran?”
“All ready, Captain. I'll put out the light. Go ahead.”
They went down the stairs two and two, Mrs. Craig and the Captain, Halloran and George, and walked toward the lake, through the vicious quiet of the side streets, through the merriment of North Clark Street, through the sober, comfortable region of stone houses and big churches—on to the imposing private hotel where dwelt the Le Ducs.
“I'm afraid, father,” whispered Mrs. Craig, “that I'm not exactly dressed for this.”
“Nonsense! My daughter needn't be ashamed to go anywhere. I wouldn't give that for a girl that wouldn't be glad to see her own mother, no matter if she came in a sunbonnet. There's nothing the matter with this shawl, I guess.”
“Why, no; but it's old. And they're not wearing shawls now.”
“What do we care about that?”
“I don't care if you don't.” And so determined was she not to care that she managed to force a little smile as her feet sank into the carpet and the door-boy stood aside to let her pass.
Le Duc himself opened the door and greeted the group in the hall with a “How are you? Come in!”