“It is late,” said Peter breathlessly. “But I’ve a good excuse. I’ve done well tonight and it is all for you, Clarinda.”
Clarinda arose quickly from the divan, and Peter took her gently in his arms. Her father winked at her knowingly and smiled.
“What have you done, Peter?” she asked, as she struggled to release herself from him.
“Wait until I get my breath,” he replied as he pushed her gently back upon the divan. He sat down between them.
Carefully he arranged himself, stretching his long legs comfortably out in front of him; then he folded his arms complacently over his chest.
“Tell us, Peter?” Clarinda asked again, as she drew herself close to him. “Isn’t it nice?” she added. “Just we three together. Father, you, and I?”
Her father laughed and Peter put his arm around her.
“You’re a nice little person, Clarinda,” he said.
“But think, Peter, why shouldn’t I be happy? What more could I want?”
“That brings me to exactly what I wanted to tell you. What more could you want? I can think of lots of things. For example—a larger place. It might be the house on the Park Way. A car you could drive. A larger divan, with a bigger lamp behind it. Probably new clothes—a fur coat. Maybe a husband who would really accomplish something.” Peter stopped and contracted his brows. “Then further you might have a new father who would think more of you, one who might be more proud of you. I admit that is drawing a long bow; but he might be found.”