Garrison. She was standing in the center of the room, and her
attitude was that of one who has experienced a very unpleasant
surprise. The calm, cold tone was not far from accusing; her steely
eyes were hard and uncompromising. The tall daughter stood before
her, one hand still clutching the bits of white paper; on her face
there was the imprint of demure concern.

"I haven't had time to ask him, mamma," she said, lightly, "Would it
be quite the proper thing to demand the reason for his presence here
when it seems quite clear that he is paying us a brief morning
call?"

"Do not be absurd! I mean, what is he doing in Brussels? Didn't he
say he was to return to New York last week?" There was refined
belligerence in her voice. Dorothy gave a brief thought to the cool,
unabashed young man below and smiled inwardly as she contemplated
the reception he was to receive from this austere interrogator.

"Don't ask me, mamma, I am as much puzzled as you over his sudden
advent. It is barely possible he did not go to New York."

"Well, why didn't he?" This was almost a threat.

"It is a mystery we have yet to unravel. Shall we send for Sherlock
Holmes?"

"Dorothy, I am very serious. How can you make light of this
unwarranted intrusion? He is--"

"Why do you call it intrusion, mamma? Has he not the right to come?