He laughed with his lips, but his eyes didn’t laugh one bit as he said: 

“What a quaint little fancy of yours that is, child—­as if you were two in one.”

“But I am two in one,” I declared.  “That’s why I’m a cross-current and a contradiction, you know,” I explained.

I thought he’d understand.  But he didn’t.  I supposed, of course, he knew what a cross-current and a contradiction was.  But he turned again and stared at me.

“A—­what?” he demanded.

“A cross-current and a contradiction,” I explained once more.  “Children of unlikes, you know.  Nurse Sarah told me that long ago.  Didn’t you ever hear that—­that a child of unlikes was a cross-current and a contradiction?”

“Well, no—­I—­hadn’t,” answered Father, in a queer, half-smothered voice.  He half started from his seat.  I think he was going to walk up and down, same as he usually does.  But in a minute he saw he couldn’t, of course, with all those people around there.  So he sat back again in his chair.  For a minute he just frowned and stared at nothing; then he spoke again, as if half to himself.

“I suppose, Mary, we were—­unlikes, your mother and I. That’s just what we were; though I never thought of it before, in just that way.”

He waited, then went on, still half to himself, his eyes on the dancers: 

“She loved things like this—­music, laughter, gayety.  I abhorred them.  I remember how bored I was that night here—­till I saw her.”

“And did you fall in love with her right away?” I just couldn’t help asking that question.  Oh, I do so adore love stories!

A queer little smile came to Father’s lips.

“Well, yes, I think I did, Mary.  There’d been dozens and dozens of young ladies that had flitted by in their airy frocks—­and I never looked twice at them.  I never looked twice at your mother, for that matter, Mary.” (A funny little twinkle came into Father’s eyes.  I love him with that twinkle!) “I just looked at her once—­and then kept on looking till it seemed as if I just couldn’t take my eyes off her.  And after a little her glance met mine—­and the whole throng melted away, and there wasn’t another soul in the room but just us two.  Then she looked away, and the throng came back.  But I still looked at her.”

“Was she so awfully pretty, Father?” I could feel the little thrills tingling all over me. Now I was getting a love story!

“She was, my dear.  She was very lovely.  But it wasn’t just that—­it was a joyous something that I could not describe.  It was as if she were a bird, poised for flight.  I know it now for what it was—­the very incarnation of the spirit of youth.  And she was young.  Why, Mary, she was not so many years older than you yourself, now.”

I nodded, and I guess I sighed.

“I know—­where the brook and river meet,” I said; “only they won’t let me have any lovers at all.”