“No, we didn’t! Wasn’t it awful? I was so mortified. The Baptist minister went out just after you, Johnson, and the rector was as red as could be. I’m sure I don’t know what he thought!” “Thought! Where is she?” “William came for her, and took her out to supper at the inn,” said Emily in a weak voice. Like Leigh she stood back, unsympathetic, but she was a little frightened, too. “Humph! Took her out to supper, eh?” Mr. Carter thundered. “I reckon he thought he’d better! I gave him a piece of my mind.” “Oh, papa! He was as white as a sheet.” William’s mother pressed her handkerchief against her shaking lips. “He didn’t know, of course. He wasn’t to blame, dear--you shouldn’t have done it!” “Wasn’t to blame?” Mr. Carter blazed with wrath. “Didn’t he marry that ballet-dancer? Didn’t he bring a French ballet-dancer home here and foist her on a decent, respectable family? He wasn’t to blame, you say? By Jove, I wish he was small enough to thrash!” He was still walking up and down. As he swung around, Leigh faced him. “She’s a lovely creature!” the boy cried passionately. “That dance was beautiful--everybody thought so!” “Oh, Leigh!” gasped his mother. “Dr. Fanshawe was ashamed to look at it!” “Old idiot!” cried Leigh. “You’re all making her unhappy--any one can see it. Nothing but criticism from morning until night--I call it cruel!” Mr. Carter stared at him a moment in amazed incredulity. Then he jeered. “Hear, hear!” he cried. “Wisdom from the mouths of babes and sucklings! Do you want to marry a ballet-dancer, too, sir?” But his son’s blood was up. “I call it a burning shame!” he cried. “She’s come here, a foreigner, and she wants to love us, and you’re talking brutally about her. She’s exquisite, she was to-night, she----” “Go to bed!” shouted Mr. Carter. “Shut up and go to bed!” Mrs. Carter rose hastily and gave Leigh a little shove. “Go!” she whispered. “There, there--don’t aggravate papa.” Leigh, shaking with anger, yielded ground reluctantly. “She’s an angel!” he shouted at the door. “I won’t have her abused!” “Did you marry her!” Mr. Carter asked with fine sarcasm. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake; I thought it was William.” Leigh almost choked with indignation. “He isn’t here--I won’t have her talked about.” “Go to bed!” thundered Mr. Carter, taking a step forward. “I----” Leigh began to sputter again, but his mother thrust him out and shut the door. “Do speak lower, Johnson,” she sobbed. “I know Miranda listens.” “I don’t care a hang whether Miranda listens or not,” said Mr. Carter. “That boy’s an ass--talk about his being a genius!” “Oh, papa, he’s only eighteen,” said Mrs. Carter deprecatingly, “and she’s made up to him from the very first.” “He’s an ass!” repeated Mr. Carter. “And I guess the whole town knows I’ve got a ballet-dancer----”