spoke again, as if half to himself.

"I suppose, Mary, we were--unlikes, your mother and I. That's just
what we were; though I never thought of it before, in just that way."

He waited, then went on, still half to himself, his eyes on the
dancers:

"She loved things like this--music, laughter, gayety. I abhorred them.
I remember how bored I was that night here--till I saw her."

"And did you fall in love with her right away?" I just couldn't help
asking that question. Oh, I do so adore love stories!

A queer little smile came to Father's lips.

"Well, yes, I think I did, Mary. There'd been dozens and dozens of
young ladies that had flitted by in their airy frocks--and I never
looked twice at them. I never looked twice at your mother, for that
matter, Mary." (A funny little twinkle came into Father's eyes. I
_love_ him with that twinkle!) "I just looked at her once--and then
kept on looking till it seemed as if I just couldn't take my eyes off
her. And after a little her glance met mine--and the whole throng
melted away, and there wasn't another soul in the room but just us
two. Then she looked away, and the throng came back. But I still
looked at her."

"Was she so awfully pretty, Father?" I could feel the little thrills
tingling all over me. _Now_ I was getting a love story!