have made a point of expressing by a hospitable attitude his sense of obligation to a man who had brought him such a subject. Delia’s hint however was all-sufficient for her father; he would have thought it a gross breach of friendly loyalty to take part in a festival not graced by Mr. Flack’s presence. His idea of loyalty was that he should scarcely smoke a cigar unless his friend was there to take another, and he felt rather mean if he went round alone to get shaved. As regards Saint-Germain, he took over the project and George Flack telegraphed for a table on the terrace at the Pavillon Henri Quatre. Mr. Dosson had by this time learned to trust the European manager of the
Reverberator
to spend his money almost as he himself would.
IV
DELIA HAD BROKEN OUT THE EVENING THEY took Mr. Probert to the circus; she had apostrophised Francie as they each sat in a red-damask chair after ascending to their apartments. They had bade their companions farewell at the door of the hotel and the two gentlemen had walked off in different directions. But up stairs they had instinctively not separated; they dropped into the first place and sat looking at each other and at the highly-decorated lamps that burned, night after night, in their empty saloon. “Well, I want to know when you’re going to stop,” Delia said to her sister, speaking as if this remark were a continuation, which it was not, of something they had lately been saying.
“Stop what?” asked Francie, reaching forward for a
marron
.
“Stop carrying on the way you do—with Mr. Flack.”
Francie stared, while she consumed her
marron
; then she replied, in her little flat, patient voice, “Why, Delia Dosson, how can you be so foolish?”
“Father, I wish you’d speak to her. Francie, I ain’t foolish.”
“What do you want me to say to her?” Mr. Dosson inquired. “I guess I’ve said about all I know.”
“Well, that’s in fun; I want you to speak to her in earnest.”
“I guess there’s no one in earnest but you,” Francie remarked. “These are not so good as the last.”
“No, and there won’t be if you don’t look out. There’s something you can do if you’ll just keep quiet. If you can’t tell difference of style, well, I can.”
“What’s the difference of style?” asked Mr. Dosson. But before this question could be answered Francie protested against the charge of carrying on. Quiet? Wasn’t she as quiet as a stopped clock? Delia replied that a girl was not quiet so long as she didn’t keep others so; and she wanted to know what her sister proposed to do about Mr. Flack. “Why don’t you take him and let Francie take the other?” Mr. Dosson continued.
“That’s just what I’m after—to make her take the other,” said his elder daughter.
“Take him—how do you mean?” Francie inquired.
“Oh, you know how.”
“Yes, I guess you know how!” Mr. Dosson laughed, with an absence of prejudice which might have been thought deplorable in a parent.
“Do you want to stay in Europe or not? that’s what I want to know,” Delia declared to her sister. “If you want to go bang home you’re taking the right way to do it.”
“What has that got to do with it?” asked Mr. Dosson.
“Should you like so much to reside at that place—where is it?—where his paper is published? That’s where you’ll have to pull up, sooner or later,” Delia pursued.
“Do you want to stay in Europe, father?” Francie said, with her small sweet weariness.
“It depends on what you mean by staying. I want to go home some time.”
“Well, then, you’ve got to go without Mr. Probert,” Delia remarked with decision. “If you think he wants to live over there—”
“Why, Delia, he wants dreadfully to go—he told me so himself,” Francie argued, with passionless pauses.
“Yes, and when he gets there he’ll want to come back. I thought you were so much interested in Paris.”
“My poor child, I
am
interested!” smiled Francie.
Reverberator
to spend his money almost as he himself would.
IV
DELIA HAD BROKEN OUT THE EVENING THEY took Mr. Probert to the circus; she had apostrophised Francie as they each sat in a red-damask chair after ascending to their apartments. They had bade their companions farewell at the door of the hotel and the two gentlemen had walked off in different directions. But up stairs they had instinctively not separated; they dropped into the first place and sat looking at each other and at the highly-decorated lamps that burned, night after night, in their empty saloon. “Well, I want to know when you’re going to stop,” Delia said to her sister, speaking as if this remark were a continuation, which it was not, of something they had lately been saying.
“Stop what?” asked Francie, reaching forward for a
marron
.
“Stop carrying on the way you do—with Mr. Flack.”
Francie stared, while she consumed her
marron
; then she replied, in her little flat, patient voice, “Why, Delia Dosson, how can you be so foolish?”
“Father, I wish you’d speak to her. Francie, I ain’t foolish.”
“What do you want me to say to her?” Mr. Dosson inquired. “I guess I’ve said about all I know.”
“Well, that’s in fun; I want you to speak to her in earnest.”
“I guess there’s no one in earnest but you,” Francie remarked. “These are not so good as the last.”
“No, and there won’t be if you don’t look out. There’s something you can do if you’ll just keep quiet. If you can’t tell difference of style, well, I can.”
“What’s the difference of style?” asked Mr. Dosson. But before this question could be answered Francie protested against the charge of carrying on. Quiet? Wasn’t she as quiet as a stopped clock? Delia replied that a girl was not quiet so long as she didn’t keep others so; and she wanted to know what her sister proposed to do about Mr. Flack. “Why don’t you take him and let Francie take the other?” Mr. Dosson continued.
“That’s just what I’m after—to make her take the other,” said his elder daughter.
“Take him—how do you mean?” Francie inquired.
“Oh, you know how.”
“Yes, I guess you know how!” Mr. Dosson laughed, with an absence of prejudice which might have been thought deplorable in a parent.
“Do you want to stay in Europe or not? that’s what I want to know,” Delia declared to her sister. “If you want to go bang home you’re taking the right way to do it.”
“What has that got to do with it?” asked Mr. Dosson.
“Should you like so much to reside at that place—where is it?—where his paper is published? That’s where you’ll have to pull up, sooner or later,” Delia pursued.
“Do you want to stay in Europe, father?” Francie said, with her small sweet weariness.
“It depends on what you mean by staying. I want to go home some time.”
“Well, then, you’ve got to go without Mr. Probert,” Delia remarked with decision. “If you think he wants to live over there—”
“Why, Delia, he wants dreadfully to go—he told me so himself,” Francie argued, with passionless pauses.
“Yes, and when he gets there he’ll want to come back. I thought you were so much interested in Paris.”
“My poor child, I
am
interested!” smiled Francie.
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