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"Don't you expect to embrace any regular occupation?" Gaston smiled at him as from depths. "Have YOU anything of that sort, sir?" "Well, you have me there!" Mr. Dosson resignedly sighed. "It doesn't seem as if I required anything, I'm looked after so well. The fact is the girls support me." "I shall not expect Miss Francie to support me," said Gaston Probert.
He was not a specific person, but had beyond even Delia Dosson, in whom we have facially noted it, the quality of the sample or advertisement, the air of representing a "line of goods" for which there is a steady popular demand.
He represented the newspaper, and the newspaper for this man of genial assumptions represented well, all other representations whatever. To know Delia and Francie thus attended by an editor or a correspondent was really to see them dancing in the central glow. This is doubtless why Mr. Dosson had slightly more than usual his air of recovering slowly from a pleasant surprise.
"Well, of course we shall be on hand." After which Mr. Dosson continued to follow the subject as at the same respectful distance. "You'll continue to reside in Paris?" "I'll live anywhere in the world she likes. Of course my people are here that's a great tie. I'm not without hope that it may with time become a reason for your daughter," Gaston handsomely wound up.
They opened at this compassionate pressure and Francie rested their troubled light on her father, who had now risen to his feet and stood with his back to the fire. "Why, chicken," said Mr. Dosson, "you look as if you had had quite a worry." "I told you I should I told you, I told you!" Francie broke out with a trembling voice. "And now it's come!"
That thing will go the rounds, you'll see. What brought me was learning from him that they HAVE got their backs up." "What on earth are you talking about?" Delia Dosson rang out. Mr. Flack turned his eyes on her own as he had done a moment before; Francie sat there serious, looking hard at the carpet. "What game are you trying, Miss Delia?
As the newspaper-man happened to be the person with whom he had most consorted for some time back he felt drawn to him in presence of a new problem, and somehow it didn't seem to Mr. Dosson to disqualify him as a source of comfort that it was just he who had been the fountain of injury. The injury wouldn't be there if the Proberts didn't point to it with a thousand ringers. Moreover Mr.
Moreover he was quite mum as Delia phrased it to herself about Mme. de Brecourt and Mme. de Cliche: such, Miss Dosson learned from Charles Waterlow, were the names of his two sisters who had houses in Paris gleaning at the same time the information that one of these ladies was a marquise and the other a comtesse. She was less exasperated by their non-appearance than Mr.
The reading-room of the Hotel de l'Univers et de Cheltenham was none too ample, and had seemed to Mr. Dosson from the first to consist principally of a highly-polished floor on the bareness of which it was easy for a relaxed elderly American to slip.
"Stop what?" asked Francie, reaching forward for a marron. "Stop carrying-on the way you do with Mr. Flack." Francie stared while she consumed her marron; then she replied in her small flat patient voice: "Why, Delia Dosson, how can you be so foolish?" "Father, I wish you'd speak to her. Francie, I ain't foolish," Delia submitted. "What do you want me to say to her?" Mr. Dosson enquired.
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