ur of
Mr. Probert's, with Gaston's rejoinder, as they crossed the Place de la
Concorde.

"We should have to have them to dinner." The young man noted his
father's conditional, as if his assent to the strange alliance were not
yet complete; but he guessed all the same that the sight of them had
not made a difference for the worse: they had let the old gentleman down
more easily than was to have been feared. The call had had above all the
immense luck that it hadn't been noisy--a confusion of underbred sounds;
which was very happy, for Mr. Probert was particular in this: he could
bear French noise but couldn't for the life of him bear American. As
for English he maintained that there was no such thing: England was a
country with the straw down in all the thoroughfares of talk. Mr. Dosson
had scarcely spoken and yet had remained perfectly placid, which was
exactly what Gaston would have chosen. No hauteur could have matched
it--he had gone so little out of his way. Francie's lover knew
moreover--though he was a little disappointed that no charmed
exclamation should have been dropped as they quitted the hotel--that the
girl's rare spell had worked: it was impossible the old man shouldn't
have liked her.

"Ah do ask them, and let it be very soon," he replied. "They'll like it
so much."

"And whom can they meet--who can meet THEM?"

"Only the family--all of us: au complet. Other people we can have
later."

"All of us au complet--that makes eight. And the three of THEM," said
Mr. Probert. Then he added: "Poor creatures!" The fine ironic humane
sound of it gave Gaston much pleasure; he passed his hand into his
father's arm. It promised well; it made the intelligent, the tender
allowance for the dear little Dossons confronted with a row of fierce
French critics, judged by standards they had never even heard of. The
meeting of the two parents had not made the problem of their commerce
any more clear; but our youth was reminded afresh by his elder's hinted
pity, his breathed charity, of the latent liberality that was really
what he had built on. The dear old governor, goodness knew, had
prejudices and superstitions, but if they were numerous, and some
of them very curious, they were not rigid. He had also such nice
inconsistent feelings, such irrepressible indulgences, such humorous
deviations, and they would ease everything off. He was in short an old
darling, and with an old darling in the long run one was always safe.
W