He would not have said that this bright mass of silk in the chair made him think of his wife's wedding-gown, but he knew by that thought it was Madelon's.

He stared at it, scowling over his great mustache.

Then he looked slowly around at his daughter.

She was just coming out of the pantry, and faced him as he spoke.
"I suppose this is true I've heard," said he.
Madelon's face blazed red before his eyes, but her mouth was firm and hard, and her eyes unflinching.

"Yes, sir," she replied; and she took a dish from the table and turned about, and went again into the pantry, carrying it.
David Hautville, rearing his great height before the fire, casting a long shadow over the room, stood, holding his unlighted pipe, and staring again at the wedding-silk, until his daughter returned.