Congress adjourned for the holidays on Wednesday, but it was not until the following Monday that Garwood reached Grand Prairie. Emily had expected him Friday; the Chicago congressmen, as she had read in the newspapers of that city, had reached home on that day, been duly interviewed, and allowed to lapse into their customary obscurity, but Jerome delayed and no word came. When he did drive up to the house Monday evening, tired and worn with traveling, he explained that a conference had detained him. Emily did not display her usual interest in politics by pressing for details of the conference. There were things, she was slowly learning, that it were better to let pass.
She had kept his supper warm for him, and as soon as he had cleansed himself of the stains of travel, and had a look at the baby sleeping rosily in his crib, she had it laid in the dining-room. She sat across the table from him with the coffee urn before her.
“How’s father?” he asked.
“He’s better—but weak. He must not go out this winter. His heart’s affected,” she whispered, turning about with the soft-voiced mystery of a secret. “He mustn’t know it. He’s in low spirits, and the doctor says I’ll have to stay more closely with him and watch him.” Her voice fell as she repeated this judgment.
“Hm-m-m,” Garwood mused. He stirred the sugar into his coffee, and then, as if seeking livelier topics, he said:
“So Dade’s coming home, is she?”
“Yes; isn’t it too bad about her engagement?”
“No, I think not—those foreigners are mostly a bad lot.”
“She says she’ll have to marry an American.”
“Does she have to get married?”