"And is she still keeping up her schools?"
"Yes, for the present. She'll have to stop soon." Laura leaned forward,
curious:
"Tell me, dad--a baby?"
"Yes." She stared a moment.
"Deborah!" she softly exclaimed; and in a moment, "I wonder."
"What do you mean?" her father asked, but Laura evaded his question. She
plied him with her inquiries for a few minutes longer, then turned to him
with a challenging smile:
"Well, father, don't you think you had better ask me now about myself?" He
looked away a moment, but turned resolutely back:
"I suppose so. When did you land?"
"This morning, dear, from Italy--with my husband," she replied. And Roger
started slightly. "I want you to meet him soon," she said.
"Very well," he answered. At his disturbed, almost guilty expression Laura
laughed a little and rose and came over and hugged him tight.
"Oh, but, father dearest--it's working out so splendidly! I want you to
know him and see for yourself! We've come to live in New York for a
while--he has more to do here about war supplies."
"More shrapnel, eh, machine guns. More wholesale death," her father
growled. But Laura smiled good-naturedly.
"Yes, love, from America. Aren't you all ashamed of yourselves--scrambling
so, to get rich quick--out of this war you disapprove of."
"_You_ look a bit rich," her father retorted.
"Rather--for the moment," was her cheerful answer.
"And you still like living in Italy?"
"Tremendously! Rome is wonderful now!"
"Reborn, eh.
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