You can't always be a wilful,
headstrong little girl, running everywhere and doing just as you
please. You have grown to be a woman in stature--you must be one
in fact. You know I told you at first to be careful how you acted
with--"
"Father, dear old Father!" she cried, springing from her seat and
throwing her arms around his neck. "Have I appeared forward and
unwomanly? Tell me, Father, tell me! I did not mean to do
anything--"
"Quietly, my child, don't give way to excitement." He gently put
her from him and crossed himself--a habit of his when suddenly
perplexed--then added:
"You have done no evil; but there are proprieties which a young
woman must not overstep. You are impulsive, too impulsive; and it
will not do to let a young man see that you--that you--"
"Father, I understand," she interrupted, and her face grew very
pale.
Madame Roussillon came to the door, flushed with stooping over the
fire, and announced that the steak was ready.
"Bring the wine, Alice," she added, "a bottle of Bordeaux."
She stood for a breath of two, her red hands on her hips, looking
first at Father Beret, then at Alice.
"Quarreling again about the romances?" she inquired. "She's been
at it again?--she's found 'em again?"
"Yes," said Father Beret, with a queer, dry smile, "more romance.
Yes, she's been at it again! Now fetch the Bordeaux, little one.
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