His Family | Page 8

storm of long ago which had swept away his faith in God,
the feeling had come to him of late that somewhere, in some manner,
he was to meet his wife again. He rarely tried to think this out, for as
soon as he did it became a mere wish, a hungry longing, nothing more.
So he had learned to let it lie, deep down inside of him. Sometimes he
vividly saw her face. After all, who could tell? And she would want to
hear of her children. Yes, he must know them better. Some day soon he
must begin.
Suddenly he remembered that Laura had not yet come home. With a
sigh of discomfort he got out of bed and went downstairs, re-lit the gas
in the hallway, unfastened the locks and the chain at the door. He came
back and was soon asleep. He must have dozed for an hour or two. He
was roused by hearing the front door close and a big motor thundering.
And then like a flash of light in the dark came Laura's rippling laughter.
CHAPTER III
On the next evening, Saturday, while Roger ate his dinner, Laura came
to sit with him. She herself was dining out. That she should have
dressed so early in order to keep him company had caused her father
some surprise, and a faint suspicion entered his mind that she had
overdrawn at the bank, as she had the last time she sat with him like
this. Her manner certainly was a bit strange.
But Roger put the thought aside. Whatever she wanted, Laura was
worth it. In a tingling fashion he felt what a glorious time she was
having, what a gorgeous town she knew. It was difficult to realize she
was his own daughter, this dashing stranger sitting here, playing idly
with a knife and caressing him with her voice and her eyes. The blue
evening gown she was wearing to-night (doubtless not yet paid for)
made her figure even more supple and lithe, set off her splendid bosom,

her slender neck, her creamy skin. Her hair, worn low over her temples,
was brown with just a tinge of red. Her eyes were black, with gleaming
lights; her lips were warm and rich, alive. He did not approve of her
lips. Once when she had kissed him Roger had started slightly back.
For his daughter's lips were rouged, and they had reminded him of his
youth. He had asked her sister to speak to her. But Deborah had told
him she did not care to speak to people in that way--"especially
women--especially sisters," she had said, with a quiet smile. All very
well, he reflected, but somebody ought to take Laura in hand.
She had been his favorite as a child, his pet, his tiny daughter. He
remembered her on his lap like a kitten. How she had liked to cuddle
there. And she had liked to bite his hand, a curious habit in a child. "I
hurt daddy!" He could still recollect the gay little laugh with which she
said that, looking up brightly into his face.
And here she was already grown, and like a light in the sober old house,
fascinating while she disturbed him. He liked to hear her high pitched
voice, gossiping in Deborah's room or in her own dainty chamber
chatting with the adoring maid who was dressing her to go out. He
loved her joyous thrilling laugh. And he would have missed her from
the house as he would have missed Fifth Avenue if it had been dropped
from the city. For the picture Roger had formed of this daughter was
more of a symbol than of a girl, a symbol of the ardent town, spending,
wasting, dancing mad. It was Laura who had kept him living right up to
his income.
"Where are you dining to-night?" he asked.
"With the Raymonds." He wondered who they were. "Oh, Sarah," she
added to the maid. "Call up Mrs. Raymond's apartment and ask what
time is dinner to-night."
"Are you going to dance later on?" he inquired.
"Oh, I guess so," she replied. "On the Astor Roof, I think they said--"
Her father went on with his dinner. These hotel dances, he had heard,

ran well into Sunday morning. How Judith would have disapproved. He
hesitated uneasily.
"I don't especially care for this dancing into Sunday," he said. For a
moment he did not look up from his plate. When he did he saw Laura
regarding him.
"Oh, do you mind? I'm sorry. I won't, after this," she answered. And
Roger colored angrily, for the glint of amusement in Laura's
mischievous black eyes revealed quite unmistakably that she regarded
both her father and his feeling for the Sabbath as very dear and