It was intended for a compliment, but somehow I could not smile at it. In fact, I shed a tear instead. And when he saw it, and stooped to kiss it away, my feelings overcame me. I threw my arms round his neck and begged him not to let fascinating daughters-in-law draw away his heart from his old wife. I daresay it was silly, but I could not help it. Of course he chuckled as if I had said something very funny. And his only reply was "Baby!"—in italics. So like a man, who never can see a meaning that is not right on the top of a word.
However, I promised to be nice to Emily—nicer, rather, for, as I told him, I had always been nice to her—and he said he would take an early opportunity to have a serious talk with Harry.
"But let the poor chap alone till he gets his strength again," he pleaded—as if I were a perfect tyrant, bent on making the boy miserable; "let the poor children enjoy their love-making for the little while that Emily remains here. She has been telling me that she's got a fine appointment in a school—joint principal—and that she's going to work in a fortnight—to work and save for their little home, till Harry is ready for her."
"What?" I exclaimed. "She never told me that."
"She will, of course, when you give her the chance," said Tom, with an air of apology.
"She ought to have told me, she ought to have confided in me, first of all," I urged, much hurt, as I had every right to be; "I can't understand why she did not. You seem," I concluded passionately—"you all seem to be having secrets behind my back, and shutting me out of everything, as if I were everybody's enemy. It is always so!"
"It is never so," replied Tom, laying his arm round my shoulder. "You are never outside, old girl, except when you won't come in."
That was what they always said when they wanted to defend themselves.
But here we dropped the painful subject, and discussed the details of our proposed festival.
"Only Juke?" I inquired, counting on my fingers. "That makes seven in all—an awkward number."