It was very pleasant for a week or so. Rod watched with mingled pride and amusement the first cordial effort to be kind to his wife, merely because she was his wife, evolve into a relieved acceptance of her as quite one of themselves.
"One would think," he reflected, "that they had half expected her to eat spinach with a knife."
Rod, of course, knew quite well that Mary's adaptation to this more luxurious mode of living, a more elaborate manner, was no more difficult for her than his own ready fitting-in to the life of a logging crew. He had long ago learned that rubbing elbows with people is the surest cure for self-consciousness; that the fundamentals of good breeding are simple. There were a great many people of his own kind who believed that good manners must necessarily be the exclusive possession of the well-to-do. It had never occurred to him before so strongly, but he saw now that most of his own family and many of his friends took it for granted that to be poor—as they defined poverty—meant that one had never been anywhere, knew nothing, murdered the King's English, committed every conceivable faux pas, and was naturally an impossible sort of person.
It was a narrow creed; one that filled Rod with impatience. Those who held to it most rigidly were least qualified to pass rational judgment on any man or woman. Their knowledge of life was as limited as that of the people they regarded as inferior.
"'Fess up," he bantered Dorothy, one day. "You were all very dubious about the new Mrs. Norquay, weren't you?"
"Well, what do you expect?" his sister replied. "One doesn't anticipate a combination of brains, beauty, and deportment from such a source?"
"Why not?" he inquired innocently.
"Well, one doesn't," she replied. "I don't understand it yet. Mary's a dear. She has never had any advantages, so to speak, yet she fits in here as if she belonged. That's all I know about it."
"The fact of the matter is, Dot," Rod gave his own opinion, "that girls like Mary Thorn are rare birds in any class, top or bottom. It takes more than clothes and manners to make a real woman."
On the whole, Rod had every reason to be satisfied. It was not the family custom to be demonstrative. They liked Mary. Perceiving that she was a normal young woman of good taste and sound sense, they took her to their bosom, figuratively speaking, without more ado. There was a formal welcoming dinner to which Oliver Thorn and his wife were asked as a matter of courtesy, and to which they came and acquitted themselves with credit. Grandfather Norquay remarked afterward that Mrs. Thorn was a very fine type of woman. Rod's father conceded that Oliver Thorn was a more intelligent, better-informed man than he had imagined. All of which was duly gratifying to Rod.