But right away he smiled, and said: "But _you_ came!
I've got _you_."
Then he began to talk and tell stories, just as if I was a young lady
to be entertained. And he took me over to where they had things to
eat, and just heaped my plate with chicken patties and sandwiches and
olives and pink-and-white frosted cakes and ice-cream (not all at
once, of course, but in order). And I had a perfectly beautiful time.
And Father seemed to like it pretty well. But after a while he grew
sober again, and his eyes began to rove all around the room.
He took me to a little seat in the corner then, and we sat down and
began to talk--only Father didn't talk much. He just listened to what
I said, and his eyes grew deeper and darker and sadder, and they
didn't rove around so much, after a time, but just stared fixedly at
nothing, away out across the room. By and by he stirred and drew a
long sigh, and said, almost under his breath:
"It was just such another night as this."
And of course, I asked what was--and then I knew, almost before he had
told me.
"That I first saw your mother, my dear."
"Oh, yes, I know!" I cried, eager to tell him that I _did_ know. "And
she must have looked lovely in that perfectly beautiful blue silk
dress all silver lace.
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