"He assured me
that on both sides she was of good, even high birth, and that he had
adopted her partly because he had no children of his own and partly
because of a debt of gratitude which he owed her father. It does not
seem to me that it makes much difference."
"It makes all the difference in the world, George," retorted Mrs.
Carmichael, who for some reason or another was considerably put out.
"You don't want Mr. Travers to think that Lois was picked up in the
street, do you?"
"Of course not," her husband agreed, "but then--" He broke off, and
all three relapsed into an awkward silence. Travers was the first to
speak. He had been looking out over the garden and had seen Lois'
white dress flash through the bushes.
"For my part," he began quietly, "I can not see that what you have
told me can have an influence on the matter. I love Lois. That is the
chief thing--or rather the chief thing is whether or not she can learn
to love me. Whether she is the child of a sweep or a prince, it makes
no difference to my feelings toward her."
Mrs. Carmichael held out her hand.
"Well, whatever happens, you are a man before you are a prig," she
said, "and that is something to be thankful for in these degenerate
days. Why, there is the child herself! Come here, my dear."
Lois came running up the verandah steps with Stafford close behind
her. Her eyes were full of laughter and sunshine, and in her hand she
held a mass of roses which Stafford had gathered during their ramble.
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