“I shall not be permitted to see her?” cried Orde.
“I did not say that. Carroll announced then quite openly that she would see you outside. I fancy that was the crux of the matter. Don't you see? The whole affair shifted ground. Carroll has offered direct disobedience. Oh, she's a bully little fighter!” he finished in admiring accents. “You can't quite realise what she's doing for your sake; she's not only fighting mother, but her own heart.”
Orde found a note at the hotel, asking him to be in Washington Square at half-past two.
Carroll met him with a bright smile.
“Things aren't quite right at home,” she said. “It is a great shock to poor mother at first, and she feels very strongly. Oh, it isn't you, dear; it's the notion that I can care for anybody but her. You see, she's been used to the other idea so long that I suppose it seemed a part of the universe to her. She'll get used to it after a little, but it takes time.”
Orde examined her face anxiously. Two bright red spots burned on her cheeks; her eyes flashed with a nervous animation, and a faint shade had sketched itself beneath them.
“You had a hard time,” he murmured, “you poor dear!”
She smiled up at him.
“We have to pay for the good things in life, don't we, dear? And they are worth it. Things will come right after a little. We must not be too impatient. Now, let's enjoy the day. The park isn't so bad, is it?”
At five o'clock Orde took her back to her doorstep, where he left her.