Beyond The Rocks | Page 3

known how to wear her clothes, so it was no
wonder people stopped and turned their heads when she passed.
Josiah Brown possessed certainly not less than forty thousand a year,
and so felt he could afford a carriage in Paris, and any other fancy he
pleased. His nerves had been too shaken by his illness to appreciate the
joys of an automobile.
Thus, daily might be seen in the Avenue des Acacias this ill-assorted
pair, seated in a smart victoria with stepping horses, driving slowly up
and down. And a number of people took an interest in them.
Towards the middle of May Captain Fitzgerald arrived at the
Continental, and Theodora felt her heart beat with joy when she saw his
handsome, well-groomed head.
Oh yes, it had been indeed worth while to make papa look so
prosperous as that--so prosperous and happy--dear, gay papa!
He was about the same age as her husband, but no one would think of
taking him for more than forty. And what a figure he had! and what
manners! And when he patted her cheek Theodora felt at once that
thrill of pride and gratification she had always experienced when he
was pleased with her, from her youngest days.
She was almost glad Sarah and Clementine should have remained at
Dieppe. Thus she could have papa all to herself, and oh, what presents
she would send them back by him when he returned!
Josiah Brown despised Dominic Fitzgerald, and yet stood in awe of
him as well. A man who could spend a fortune and be content to live on
odds and ends for the rest of his life must be a poor creature. But, on
the other hand, there was that uncomfortable sense of breeding about

him which once, when Captain Fitzgerald had risen to a situation of
dignity during their preliminary conversations about Theodora's hand,
had made Josiah Brown unconsciously say "Sir" to him.
He had blushed and bitten his tongue for doing it, and had blustered
and patronized immoderately afterwards, but he never forgot the
incident. They were not birds of a feather, and never would be, though
the exquisite manners of Dominic Fitzgerald could carry any situation.
Josiah was not altogether pleased to see his father-in-law. He even
experienced a little jealousy. Theodora's face, which generally wore a
mask of gentle, solicitous meekness for him, suddenly sparkled and
rippled with laughter, as she pinched her papa's ears, and pulled his
mustache, and purred into his neck, with joy at their meeting.
It was that purring sound and those caressing tricks that Josiah Brown
objected to. He had never received any of them himself, and so why
should Dominic Fitzgerald?
Captain Fitzgerald, for his part, was enchanted to clasp his beautiful
daughter once more in his arms; he had always loved Theodora, and
when he saw her so quite too desirable-looking in her exquisite clothes,
he felt a very fine fellow himself, thinking what he had done for her.
It was not an unnatural circumstance that he should look upon the idea
of a dinner at the respectable private hotel, with his son-in-law and
daughter, as a trifle dull for Paris, or that he should have suggested a
meal at the Ritz would do them both good.
"Come and dine with me instead, my dear child," he said, with his
grand air. "Josiah, you must begin to go out a little and shake off your
illness, my dear fellow."
But Josiah was peevish.
Not to-night--certainly not to-night. It was the evening he was to take
the two doses of his new medicine, one half an hour after the other, and
he could not leave the hotel. Then he saw how poor Theodora's face fell,

and one of his sparks of consideration for the feelings of others came to
him, and he announced gruffly that his wife might go with her father, if
she pleased, provided she crept into her room, which was next door to
his own, without the least noise on her return.
"I must not be disturbed in my first sleep," he said; and Theodora
thanked him rapturously.
It was so good of him to let her go--she would, indeed, make not the
least noise, and she danced out of the room to get ready in a way Josiah
Brown had never seen her do before. And after she had gone--Captain
Fitzgerald came back to fetch her--this fact rankled with him and
prevented his sleep for more than twenty minutes.
"My sweet child," said Captain Fitzgerald, when he was seated beside
his daughter in her brougham, rolling down the Champs-Elysées, "you
must not be so grateful; he won't let you out again if you are."
"Oh, papa!" said Theodora.
They arrived at the Ritz just at the right moment. It