“Oh, my dear child!” said Claudine, when the door had banged after him. “I wish you had more—tact! Surely Mr. Stephens isn’t worth a quarrel with your own father!”
“I don’t know, Mother. I think he’s rather wonderful. I wouldn’t be rude to him for anything. You know Andrée and I have seen a lot of him this week. We’ve been rowing with him, and walking, and he’s been as nice as could be. You can’t imagine!... He’s so different from anyone else we’ve ever known. And even if he is common, he’s not the least bit—objectionable. Why, Mother, you can see how trustworthy and honest he is! It’s written all over him!”
“I know, my dear. But your father—”
“Father’s not infallible. He makes mistakes. He’s not a good judge of people at all. And I’m not going to be rude to the poor man. And I’m sure Andrée won’t, either. She loves to hear him talk. She says he makes her ambitious.”
Claudine was in despair. How did other mothers manage to impress their children? Was the trouble because she was singularly ineffectual or because her children were singularly rebellious? It didn’t occur to her that it might be because she was wrong. She decided to try another tack.
“Edna!” she cried, fervently. “For my sake, dear, avoid any trouble with your father! You can’t think how it distresses me!”
“Mother!” said Edna, firmly. “That’s not fair! That’s just as bad as Father’s way. It isn’t fair to try to make me do what I don’t think is right.”
But she melted at the sight of her mother’s face.
“Very well, darling!” she said. “I hate to do it, but if it’ll make you any happier, I’ll be tactful. Father won’t know a thing about it. I’ll give Mr. Stephens a little hint. He’s never offended. I’ll only talk to him when Father isn’t here.”