James Anderton had come from the city in the best of tempers. The day
had been a good one. He had received his wife's telegram announcing that
Halcyone would accompany her on her return, and awaited her arrival with
a certain amount of uneasy curiosity and interest. Would the girl be
still so terribly like Elaine and the rest of the La Sarthe--especially
Timothy, that scapegrace, handsome Timothy, her father, on whose memory
and his own bargain with Timothy's widow he never cared much to dwell?
Yes, she was, d----d like--after a while he decided; with just the same
set of head and careless grace, and that hateful stamp of breeding that
had so lamentably escaped his own children, half La Sarthe, too. It was
just Timothy of the gray eyes come back again--not Elaine so much now,
not at all, in fact, except in the line of the throat.
His solid, coarse voice was a little husky, and those who knew him well
would have been aware that James Anderton was greatly moved as he bid
his stepdaughter welcome.
And when she had gone off to her room, accompanied by the boisterous
Mabel and Ethel, he said to his wife:
"Lu, you must get the girl some decent clothes.
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