"This," said my father, bowing again, "is delightfully unexpected! But I
forget myself. This is my son, Henry Shelton. May I present him to Mlle.
de Blanzy?"

"I suppose you may as well," she replied, holding a hand toward me
indifferently. "Let us trust he has your good qualities monsieur, and
none of your bad ones. But I wanted to speak to you alone."

"My son is discretion itself," said my father, with another bow. "Pray
let him stay. I feel sure our discussion will not only interest but
instruct him."

Mademoiselle frowned and tapped an angry foot on the floor.

"You heard what I said, sir. Send him out," she demanded.

"Stay where you are, Henry," said my father gently. "Stay where you are,"
he repeated more loudly, as I started for the door. "I have something
further to say to you before you leave this house."

"Your pardon," he explained, turning again to Mademoiselle, "but my son
and I have had a slight falling out over a question of ethics which I
think directly concerns the matter you wish to discuss. Pray forgive me,
Mademoiselle, but I had much rather he remained."

Mademoiselle glanced at me again, this time with an appeal in her eyes
which I read and understood. It seemed to me a trace more of color had
mounted to her cheeks. She seemed about to speak but paused
irresolutely.