Page:Stella Dallas, a novel (IA stelladallasnove00prou).pdf/170

160 "Oh, she's not forty! She can touch her fingers to the floor without bending her knees just as well as I can. We tried it one morning. And she rides horseback, and swims and plays tennis and golf. Father said she could almost beat him at golf. I guess she's about twenty-five."

"Oh, she and your father play golf sometimes."

"Sometimes."

"How in the world did your father become acquainted with this goddess?" Stella inquired, in as light a tone as she could muster. "Happen to know?"

"Yes, and it's like a story. Father found her in Central Park! He saw her there riding horseback one day. He was on a horse, too. She passed him. He didn't like to run after her, and try to catch her, so he went by another path, and cut her off when she came round a curve later on. Con told me about it."

"Who's Con?"

"Con is her oldest son."

"Oh, son! Married is she?"

"She used to be. Her husband is dead now."

"Oh, dead, is he? That's convenient," murmured Stella.

"Oh, no, it isn't. It isn't a bit convenient. Mr. Morrison left a whole lot of money and horses and houses and things, and Mrs. Morrison has to look out for them all alone. She says she wouldn't know what to do without father to help her and advise her."

"Oh, I see, I see." Stella was still polishing, still keeping her voice light and inconsequential with the