“Just the thing. A phonograph. That is the one thing lacking. I knew there was something needed.”
Father-in-law was quiet after that. He walked about slowly, peering into every nook and corner. But finally he went out to the car, and climbed in. Eveley followed silently. He started the car with a bang and a tug, and drove home swiftly, speaking not one word on the way. But Eveley was content.
Quite late that evening he came up the rustic stairs and knocked on her window.
“Say, Miss Ainsworth,” he asked anxiously, “did you decide to take that cottage and live alone? Pretty risky business, I’m afraid. And it’s a sight of work keeping up a garden like that—and chickens are a dickens of a lot of trouble.”
“I am afraid so,” said Eveley wistfully. “I believe your advice is good. It is a darling little place, but I suspect I’d better give up the idea entirely.”
“That’s right. You’re a sensible girl. Very sensible.”
And he turned abruptly and went creaking down the stairs once more.
The next evening as she swung her car up to the curb, Eveley found him waiting.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to give it up,” he said, and added apologetically, “I thought since you didn’t want it, I might take it myself. But if I went away they’d think I was dissatisfied, and maybe they hadn’t been good to me or something. I wouldn’t like to hurt their feelings.”
“Can’t you pretend you hate to leave, but you feel it is your duty?” Eveley almost choked on the word, but she knew it would be only folly to explain her advanced ideas to this kindly conscientious soul. “You tell them that you think it is your solemn duty to go and leave them alone, and that you can’t be happy unless you are doing your duty. Tell them that honeymooners need to be alone.”