 | A Father |  |
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"She lives at the same house as Professor Grenier, my old French master. I met her there. Everyone loves her. I loved her at once. She does not know it yet, I have not told her, but I think she must guess. Mother, if you could just see her—"
He put his head down against his mother's and caressed her boyishly. After a while she relented, and gave him permission to bring Yuri.
It was a bright Sunday afternoon that Gerald brought Yuri to his home. Mrs. Latimer was sitting up, with a bright color in each cheek. She was waiting for Gerald, who had gone to get Yuri. She wondered what her husband would say if he knew the truth. This was the first time she had ever dared defy him about anything. Downstairs in the library he was reading the Sunday papers and smoking. He had been in a good-natured mood lately. She knew he would join them soon in her sitting-room, and would know the truth. She rose nervously to her feet when she heard Gerald's quick, joyous tread on the stairs. Now she was looking at Yuri, the half-Japanese girl of whom Gerald had raved—the shop-girl her husband detested, without knowing.
The girl was the most composed of the three, for she knew nothing as yet.
"I am glad to meet Mr. Gerald's mother," she said simply.
She called him "Mr. Gerald" always, the mother noticed, and it sounded soft and pretty from her lips. Neither of the two women spoke much. Gerald monopolized most of the conversation, and told them bright, witty college tales, chasing away the constraint and fear from the mother's face, and lighting Yuri's with arch fun.
"Your house is so beautiful," she told Mrs. Latimer directly, looking about her. She got up and stood with clasped hands before a large oil painting in the room.
"That is mother when a girl."
"Tha's vaery beautiful." There was still a foreign lisp left. "An' your father? You have picture, too, of heem?"
"Well, not large like that. Mother where's that small medallion of father, taken about the same time as yours? Ah! here it is." He put the miniature on ivory into the girl's hand.
Yuri had grown quite white, and her eyes were dilated and fixed on the miniature in her hand. She did not speak, nor did she hear what Gerald was saying.
"Wasn't he a handsome fellow though? He has scarcely changed now. Ah! here he comes, I hear his step."
The girl was not white now. A rich flush suffused her face, making it very beautiful, and her sharp, dark eyes had a strange magnetism as they looked straight at Mr. Latimer and held him in their power.
Gerald had risen to his feet with forced carelessness, for although he had confidence that his father, who was always so polished and gallant before strangers, would not betray his anger before the girl, he was afraid to actually displease him.
"Father, with mamma's permission I brought Miss a—a Sentaro to meet you."
Whatever surprise or anger his father felt, he did not betray it, for the girl was very beautiful. He bowed courteously to her, murmuring something about "pleasure at meeting," and forgetting even to give a side glance of displeasure at his wife and son. The girl did not return the greeting in the slightest. There was a peculiar look about her face, and she was standing very straight and proudly. She turned to Gerald.
"I call you always 'Mr. Gerald.' Ees thad your name?"
The young man flushed.
"Yes, my first name; Professor Grenier always called me that and—"
"Oh! I din know thad. What ees—?"
"Our last name? Oh! Latimer."
The girl was quiet now, her eyes still on the older man's face.
She suddenly slipped her hand into the bosom of her gown and pulled out an old card and a faded miniature.
"Are those yours?" she asked Mr. Latimer. He took them wonderingly from her.
"Mine? Why, no; that is—yes. By Jove! Where—"
The girl interrupted him. She had forgotten the mother and son.
"You are my father," she said slowly.
"Your father!" they all echoed it—stupidly.
| A Father | |