"There's a sewing woman at the house, and Sophie and I have brought lots of things from Paris."
"Really? And will you tell me all about your trip?"
"Sophie will tell you. She's the talker. I like to listen—Anthony knows that."
If she had meant to stab him by reviving old memories, she succeeded. How he had missed the responsiveness which had spurred him on to talk his best only his hurt heart knew. It had been her belief in him, which had supplemented his ability, and had brought him success, and he knew it and she knew it, and now Bettina was to try to play that inspiring part.
Nothing of his thought showed, however, in his impassive countenance. He stood up and held out his hand.
"My old man with the pneumonia is waiting," he said, "and you'll want to visit a bit with Bettina."
"But there's one thing," he continued hurriedly "that I'd like to speak of before I leave—to have settled. Do you think it will be wise to make a public announcement of our engagement?"
"Why not?" sharply.
Bettina glanced from one to the other, conscious of some undercurrent of feeling which she did not share.
"It's just this way," said Anthony, slowly; "if Bettina could meet your friends and mine, under your auspices, chaperoned by you, they would discover her charms and loveliness," he smiled at the girl, "and they'd then welcome her with open arms. Now she knows none of them; it would be only on your account that she would be received, not upon her own, and I think she'd like the other better Diana. What do you think, Bettina?" he asked. "It is for you to say."