Mrs. Whitney hid her fury. "Your father has a quaint way of expressing himself," she said, laughing elegantly. "I've simply been trying to persuade him to do as much toward securing the future of you two as Mr. Whitney is willing to do. Don't be absurd, Hiram. You know better than to talk that way."
Hiram looked steadily at her. "You've been travelin' about, 'Tilda," he said, "gettin' together a lot of newfangled notions. Ellen and I and our children stick to the old way." And he looked at Arthur, then at Adelaide.
Their faces gave him a twinge at the heart. "Speak up!" he said. "Do you or do you not stick to the old way?"
"I can't talk about it, father," was Adelaide's evasive answer, her face scarlet and her eyes down.
"And you, sir?" said Hiram to his son.
"You'll have to excuse me, sir," replied Arthur coldly.
Hiram winced before Mrs. Whitney's triumphant glance. He leaned forward and, looking at his daughter, said: "Del, would you marry a man who wouldn't take you unless you brought him a fortune?"
"No, father," Adelaide answered. She was meeting his gaze now. "But, at the same time, I'd rather not be dependent on my husband."
"Do you think your mother is dependent on me?"
"That's different," said Adelaide, after a pause.