All the blame upon me! I could not endure it. I put the door very softly and very slightly ajar and returned to the lounge. From there I called out: “Don’t forget the other reason, madam, while you’re teaching your child to respect her parents.” Then I rose and went into the reception-room.
Helen was white as a sheet. My wife was smiling a little—satirically. “Eavesdropping?” she said—apparently not in the least disturbed at my having heard her insidious attack upon me.
“I could not help overhearing your quarrel,” I replied, “and I felt it was time for me to speak. No doubt your lack of skill in social matters is the chief cause of this outrage upon Helen. Of what use is it for me to toil and struggle when you cannot take advantage of what my achievement ought to make so easy for you?”
“Father—” interrupted Helen.
“Your mother is right,” I said, turning to her. “You must go to the class. In a short time all these unpleasant incidents will be over. If any of those children persist, you will give me their names. I think I know how to bring their fathers to terms, if your mother is unable to cope with their mothers.”
“Father,” Helen repeated, “it wasn’t on her account that they—they——”
This exasperated me afresh. “Your mother has trained you well, I see,” said I. “Now—I tell you that what you say is——”
She started to her feet, her eyes flashing, her breath coming fast. “I’ll tell you why I came home to-day and said I’d never go there again. I was talking to Herbert Merivale at the dance, this afternoon, and his sister Nell and Lottie Stuyvesant were sitting near, and Lottie said, loud, so that Herbert and I would hear: ‘I don’t see why your brother talks to her. None of the very nice boys and girls will have anything to do with her, you know. How can we when she’s—she’s——’”
Helen stopped, her face flushed, and her head dropped. My wife said: “Go on, Helen; what was it?”
“‘When she’s the—the—daughter of a—thief!’”