"Young man," growled Lightener, "why couldn't you have fallen in love with my daughter and saved all this fracas?"
Bonbright was embarrassed, but Hilda came to his rescue. "Because I didn't want him to," she said. "You wouldn't have MADE me marry him, would you?"
"PROBABLY not," said her father, with a rueful grin.
"I'm going to take charge of her," said Hilda. "We'll show your mother,
Bon."
"You're—mighty good," said Bonbright, chokingly.
"I'm going to see her the first thing in the morning. You see. I'll fix things with her. When I explain everything to her she'll do just as I want her to."
Mrs. Lightener was troubled; tears stood in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Bonbright. I—I suppose a boy has the right to pick out his own wife, but it's too bad you couldn't have pleased your mother…. Her heart must ache to-night."
"I'm afraid," said Bonbright, slowly, "that it doesn't ache the way you mean, Mrs. Lightener."
"It's a hard place to put us. We're meddling. It doesn't seem the right thing to come between mother and son."
"You're not," said Hilda. "Mrs. Foote's snobbishness came between them."