"I need a change."
"Put it off till spring." And he resumed the newspaper as if the matter were disposed of.
"No. To-morrow," said she, not in the least aggressively; but her tone was of unalterable determination.
"Or, if you must go somewhere, why not Saint X? You can visit Pauline Scarborough or the Hargraves—and bring Helen March back with you."
"I prefer the farm."
He laid the paper down. "You're not serious?"
"Quite."
"Now, my dear—" he began. His tone was one he had unconsciously adopted from his grandfather. He used it whenever he, as head of the family, confronted an "irrational, feminine caprice."
"What's the use of reasoning with me?" interrupted she. "Didn't your grandfather teach you that women can't reason?"
"I'm willing for you to go to Saint X. But——"