“To be sure,” answered Fred, whose back was to the window. “Why not? What did you see,—a spook?”
“My mother-in-law!”
“The devil!”
“No, Mrs. Pinkerton!”
“Well, what do you care? You are your own boss, I hope.”
“Yes, of course; but she will be terribly offended, and I think it would be pleasanter for all concerned to keep in her good graces.”
“Gammon! Assert your rights, be master of yourself, and teach the old woman her place. D—— me, if I would have a mother-in-law riding over me, or prying around to see what I was about!”
“Oh, I am sure she passed the window by accident. She would never pry around; it isn’t her style; she has a fine sense of propriety, has my mother-in-law!”
“Oh, yes, old Pink is the pink of propriety, no doubt about that!” said the rascal, laughing heartily at his heartless pun.
But I couldn’t laugh. I saw plainly enough that I had lost more than all the ground that I had gained in my mother-in-law’s favor, and my task would be harder than ever. I had no more desire to play cards, and sauntered down stairs and out of doors as if nothing had happened. At the tea-table Mrs. Pinkerton was very impressive in her manner, but showed no direct consciousness of anything new. On the piazza, after tea, she was uncommonly affable to her daughter, and, I thought, a little disposed to keep Bessie from talking to me. The latter appeared troubled somewhat, and looked at me in an anxious way, as if longing to rush into my arms and ask me all about it and say how willingly she forgave me; but her mother kept her within the circle of her influence, and I sat apart, harboring unutterable thoughts and saying nothing. At last Mrs. Pinkerton arose, and said sweetly, “I wouldn’t stay out any later, dear, it is rather damp.”