But perhaps," she added more brightly, "he has gone back to wreck the docks." At this moment Mathilde entered the room in her hat and furs, and distracted the conversation from Burke.

Adelaide, who was fond of enunciating the belief that you could tell when people were in love by the frequency with which they wore their best clothes, noticed now how wonderfully lovely Mathilde was looking; but she noticed it quite unsuspiciously, for she was thinking, "My child is really a beauty." "You remember Mrs.Baxter, my dear." Mathilde did not remember her in the least, though she smiled sufficiently.

To her Mrs.Baxter seemed just one of many dressy old ladies who drifted across the horizon only too often.

If any one had told her that her grandfather had ever been supposed to be in danger of succumbing to charms such as these, she would have thought the notion an ugly example of grown-up pessimism.
Mrs.Baxter held her hand and patted it.
"Where does she get that lovely golden hair ?" she asked.

"Not from you, does she ?" "She gets it from her father," answered Adelaide, and her expression added, "you dreadful old goose." In the pause Mathilde made her escape unquestioned.