"He did," I answered bravely, but with some trepidation of heart. Then I explained Mr. Bayne's call that evening and the proffer of the situation.
"Well, I like that! To have some other people's relations dumped upon you in this secret, underhand fashion."
I stood up very straight and glanced in Dan's eyes. "I suppose father has a right to ask a relative to his own house," I said with dignity.
Dan flushed and his brow was one sharp frown.
"I thought the house was to be yours," he made answer in a biting tone. "And I did suppose your husband had some rights in it!"
"Oh, Dan, don't let us quarrel about the house or this young cousin or anything. Nothing must come between our love for each other," I implored, throwing my arms about his neck and kissing him. Then I knew he had been drinking.
Perhaps he felt ashamed. "I'm not quarrelling," he said gruffly. "But a man does hate to find that his wife has kept secrets from him for weeks and weeks."
I had explained the whole matter and it was useless to reiterate it. But I did say—"Young John Gaynor needn't live here, you know."
He made no answer but went to his room to fix up for supper.
I could feel that father was hurt and amazed by his indifference at the table, which went almost to the verge of rudeness. Afterward he took his hat and marched out. I tried to make amends. I felt he would not have acted so if he had been perfectly sober.