"
Joan had no appointment till the afternoon. They drove out to St.
Germain, and had _dejeuner_ at a small restaurant opposite the Chateau;
and afterwards they strolled on to the terrace.
"What was my mother doing in Paris?" asked Joan,
"She was studying for the stage," he answered. "Paris was the only
school in those days. I was at Julien's studio. We acted together for
some charity. I had always been fond of it. An American manager who was
present offered us both an engagement, and I thought it would be a change
and that I could combine the two arts."
"And it was here that you proposed to her," said Joan.
"Just by that tree that leans forward," he answered, pointing with his
cane a little way ahead. "I thought that in America I'd get another
chance. I might have if your father hadn't come along. I wonder if he
remembers me."
"Did you ever see her again, after her marriage?" asked Joan.
"No," he answered. "We used to write to one another until she gave it
up. She had got into the habit of looking upon me as a harmless sort of
thing to confide in and ask advice of--which she never took.
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