She was communicative, and he was still too dazzled by her to realize
that she was not above asking questions. In the course of a half hour
she knew all about him, and he, without the courage to be thus
flatteringly curious, knew the main points of her own history. Her
father had been a practicing physician in Rochester for the past
fifteen years. Before that he had lived in New York, where she had
been born twenty years ago. Her mother had been a Canadian, a French
woman from the Province of Quebec, whom her father had met there one
summer when he had gone to fish in Lake St. John. Her mother had been
very beautiful--David nodded at that, he had already decided it--and
had always spoken English with an accent. She, the daughter, when she
was little, spoke French before she did English; in fact, did not Mr.
Crystal notice there was still something a little queer about her _r_'s?
Mr. Crystal had noticed it, noticed it to the extent of thinking it
very pretty. The young lady dismissed the compliment as one who does
not hear, and went on with her narrative:
"After my mother's death my father left New York.
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