THE GIRL IN HIS HOUSE
man, these panegyrics would have bored him. But no man, loved as this man was, could be anything except tremendously interesting. If she loved a father in this beautiful way, how might she love a lover? Once again he pulled himself up sharp. Was he falling in love with this charming usurper? Was Bob right—the first girl he saw? He did know, however, that the happiest hour in twenty-four was this morning ride, and that the other twenty-three hours were livable because there was something to look forward to.
She was really fascinating. He had never met a woman anything like her. She was far better educated than beauty demanded. She knew all the great stories, pictures, cities; she could play and sing and paint. She had personality and magnetism. The shy gray squirrels in the Park would come and take nuts from her hands. Armitage could not get within ten feet of them.
On the morning of the sixth day, as he walked back with her from the stables, she invited him in to have a cup of coffee. The uncanny sensation as he entered that familiar
68
