“You let your imagination run away with you,” he said sharply, returning to his seat and lighting his pipe. He wanted to make her feel that she had transgressed foolishly. He wanted to be a shield for Virginia Denbigh--wanted it passionately. Fanchon watched him, her head lowered. She looked, he thought, like a slender bewitching sorceress about to work a spell upon him--or upon Virginia’s picture. “Ah!” she said slowly and softly. “I can’t make you like me--you’re my enemy!” Daniel stared, aghast, groping for words. But she did not wait; she turned, ran out of the room, and slammed the door behind her. She left Daniel still staring, half-perplexed, half-amused. He was angry, too. “The little whirlwind!” he said below his breath. Then he thought of William with a qualm of pity. Not that he thought that William greatly deserved it, for Daniel’s heart still flamed with anger for Virginia Denbigh; but William was plainly unequal to this--this handful! The observer of the family, Daniel had already suspected a rift in the lute. He knew that his brother was no longer radiantly happy. William had, in fact, the air of the uneasy keeper of a new leopardess, not yet broken in to the etiquette of the zoological park. Daniel had intercepted warning glances, signs, and murmurs between the two, and he had seen William’s evident embarrassment when Fanchon came in contact with his mother. “He’s been expecting this,” Daniel thought, and smiled, reaching for his pipe again. It had gone out twice already, and he began to coax it. Before he could rekindle it, the door opened--softly this time--and Mrs. Carter came in with a pale face and staring eyes. She stopped tragically just at the threshold. “Dan, was she _smoking_?” she gasped out in an awed undertone. “I’m afraid she was, mother. Why?” Mrs. Carter clung to the back of the chair Fanchon had just vacated. “I thought so! I--I saw it, Dan! She went out of the front door of my house--my son’s wife--smoking a cigarette,” she cried in a climax of horror. Daniel tried to stem the tide. “She’s been educated in Paris, mother. Lots of women smoke.” “Not in our set, Dan, and not in the street, anyway!” Mrs. Carter sank into the chair. “Daniel, I--I’m mortified to death!” “Nonsense! She’ll stop after a while--when she finds out you don’t like it. Never mind, mother, make the best of it. Very likely no one saw her but you.” “Saw her!” Mrs. Carter sat up straight and stared at him. “Do you happen to know who are talking to William at this very minute, at the end of this street, just where she’s sure to meet them?” Daniel laid down his pipe, turning a little pale. “No,” he said slowly. “Who?” “Colonel Denbigh and Virginia!” Her son said nothing, but he turned his eyes slowly away and looked out of the window at the white lilac. “Virginia Denbigh!” wailed Mrs. Carter. “Think, just think of Virginia smoking!” And she burst into angry, shamed, helpless tears. VI