Mrs. Carter rallied her forces again, aware that Daniel and Leigh and Emily were gaping in amazed incredulity. She turned the letter over to the first page, caught her breath, and began. “‘Dear mother,’” she read again, unsteadily this time, “‘I’m coming home on the _Britannic_, and I’m bringing you the sweetest daughter-in-law in the whole world. Her name is Fanchon la Fare, and she’s the cleverest, the dearest, the most devoted girl in France. I can’t tell you how beautiful she is, but you’ll fall in love with her at first sight--just as I did. She’s small, “just as high as my heart,” mother, and she’s got the eyes of a wild fawn----’” “Wild fawn--thunder!” ejaculated Mr. Carter, unable to restrain himself. “Give me that letter!” This time Mrs. Carter surrendered it. She passed it down _via_ Daniel, who was looking unusually pale. His face startled her, and, while Mr. Carter was reading the letter, she met her second son’s eyes. They gave her another shock. “Dan,” she whispered in an awe-struck voice, “I--do you think he was engaged to--to----” She mouthed a name, unable to finish her sentence under the young man’s look. Daniel frowned, his white lips closing in a sharp line, but Emily spoke up unabashed. “Willie’s engaged to Virginia Denbigh. She’s got his ring. I’ve seen it on her finger.” “Oh, Emily!” her mother sank back in her chair, feeling weaker than ever. Her boy, her Willie! She couldn’t believe that he would do anything like that. She shook her head indignantly at Emily. “Hush!” she whispered. “He is, too!” her daughter insisted. “Why, mama, you know he is!” Mrs. Carter cast a miserable glance at her husband, who was still reading the letter. He was a big, broad-shouldered man, with a ruddy face and bristling gray hair. Although usually a man of fairly equable temperament, his expression at the moment was almost ferocious. He had grown very red, and his eyebrows were bushed out over the bridge of his nose in a scowl that transformed him. Leigh nudged the unsympathetic Emily under the table. “Gee, look at father!” he murmured. Emily, who had resumed her breakfast, nodded with her mouth full. She had played the trump card, and she was quietly observing Daniel. He was as white as a sheet, she thought, and those big eyes of his had a way of smoldering. “It’s because he’s had a bad night, I suppose,” Emily mused, “or else----” She speculated, gazing at him; but she did not arrive at any conclusion. She was interrupted by a furious sound from the foot of the table. It was fortunately smothered, but it had the rumble of an approaching tornado. “The young donkey!” Mr. Carter exclaimed aloud. “My word, I thought William Carter had sense!” Mrs. Carter’s amiable, distressed face emerged a little from behind the big silver hot-water urn which had descended in the family, along with a Revolutionary sword and the copper warming-pans.