Both taxis slowed down at the Carters’ door, a stream of light flowed out of the house, and Mrs. Carter, frightened and tearful, appeared at the threshold, supported on either hand by Leigh and Emily. Daniel, busying himself with directions about the hand-luggage, escaped the ordeal of the greeting, but he caught a glimpse of his mother trying to be nice to the bride and then crying on William’s shoulder. When Daniel finally entered the house, the young stranger had taken off her hat and tossed aside the light furs that she had worn with such a daring effect of style. Her brother-in-law was almost startled, she looked so small, so delicate, and so young. Her hair was fluffy and dusky and riotously pretty; it escaped into curls about her little ears and on the nape of her white neck. Her dress, too, in the extreme of the prevailing mode, was a little daring in its display of both neck and ankles. As Daniel entered, she had discovered Emily, a gawky girl of sixteen, and was displaying a flattering interest in her that covered the embarrassed Emily with blushes. Mrs. Carter tried to save the situation by urging her daughter-in-law to come up-stairs. “I’ve got the very best room ready for you, my dear,” she said tremulously. “You’ll want to arrange your things and come right down. We’ve waited supper for you.” “How sweet of you, _maman_! I may call you _maman_, mayn’t I?” She laid a light hand on Mrs. Carter’s arm, raising her soft eyes to her face. “If I’m good I may call you that--_toujours--toujours, n’est-ce-pas?_” “For Heaven’s sake, Fanchon, don’t talk French to mother!” her husband exclaimed. “She doesn’t know a word of it--and you can speak English.” “I used to speak French quite a little, Willie,” Mrs. Carter protested, coloring faintly; “but I--I’m a little rusty!” Mr. Carter laughed. “Mama can just about say, ‘_oui, oui_,’ like a pig,” he said bluntly. “You women hurry up; I want my supper.” Fanchon, with one foot on the stairs, turned and kissed her hand to him. “I’m coming,” she declared. “I’m starving, too. I won’t be ten minutes!” “She means two hours,” said William, his eyes following the small figure with a look that did not escape either his father or Daniel. “She’s turned his head,” the latter thought moodily, not unaware of the charm of the light, hurrying voice and the accent, delicate and sweet, that made her English so exotic. At the moment, too, Leigh appeared, laden with Fanchon’s luggage. Like a beast of burden he toiled up behind the women, plainly captivated. William, seeing it, grinned and laid his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel was the only one who had, so far, shown no signs of capitulation. “Well, Dan, got any of those old cigarettes in your room?” he asked jocularly. Daniel yielded, returning his smile, and the two brothers, anxious perhaps for a little talk together, went up-stairs.