Twice Charles had endeavored to bring his mother's mind to the subject, and once his father had said: "Now, Mother, it is absolutely necessary that you put aside your attitude and let me tell you all about this matter." But to all advances she was adamant.
"I shall never allow you to say such wicked things about my son," declared the old lady, rising from her seat and attempting to get out of the coach. They were compelled to give it up and trust to developments.
The stars were coming out when they entered the village streets. The father called to his daughters to wait a moment, and he stopped the coach horses. Turning around in his seat, he faced his wife.
"Janet," said he, and his voice was firm as when he was a young man, "it is best that the family stop at the inn while Charles and I go on to the house and make the family acquainted with the truth. I wish you and Martha and the girls to stop here and wait until our return."
The old lady looked ahead impatiently, as if she did not see her husband.
"I shall do nothing of the kind, Mr. Winthrop," she said. "You may as well save time by driving on."
The anger was rising in the old gentleman's face. He had been defied for years and had borne it with fortitude and a measure of amusement. He had always felt that he could assert himself when he chose. But now he had chosen, and apparently he had been mistaken all these years. His wife would not obey. It was mortifying, and especially before his son and his sister. He turned sharply to Martha, sitting frightened and meek in the dark corner of the coach.
"Martha, get out," he commanded in a tone she had never disobeyed.
Martha proceeded to obey hastily.
"Don't you do any such foolish thing, Martha Winthrop. You stay right where you are. I won't have any scenes," said Madam Winthrop.