“Insult?” he replied. “Then I will tell you how. My father wanted to take you to play with him at Monte Carlo this afternoon and I said that you shouldn’t go. That’s the insult.”
“You observe, my dear,” broke in the Colonel, “that already he treats you as one having authority.”
“Yes,” said Mary, “and why shouldn’t he? Now that my father is so weak who am I to obey if not Morris?”
“Oh, well, well,” said the Colonel, diplomatically beginning to cool, for he could control his temper when he liked. “Everyone to their taste; but some matters are so delicate that I prefer not to discuss them,” and he looked round for his hat.
By this time, however, the cyclonic condition of things had affected Mary also, and she determined that he should not escape so easily.
“Before you go,” she went on in her slow voice, “I should like to say, uncle, that I quite agree with Morris. I don’t think those tables are quite the place to take young ladies to, especially if the gentleman with them is much engaged in play.”
“Indeed, indeed; then you are both of a mind, which is quite as it should be. Of course, too, upon such matters of conduct and etiquette we must all bow to the taste and the experience of the young—even those of us who have mixed with the world for forty years. Might I ask, my dear Mary, if you have any further word of advice for me before I go?”
“Yes, uncle,” replied Mary quite calmly. “I advise you not to lose so much of—of your money, or to sit up so late at night, which, you know, never agrees with you. Also, I wish you wouldn’t abuse Morris for nothing, because he doesn’t deserve it, and I don’t like it; and if we are all to live together after I am married, it will be so much more comfortable if we can come to an understanding first.”
Then muttering something beneath his breath about ladies in general and this young lady in particular, the Colonel departed with speed.
Mary sat down in an armchair, and fanned herself with a pocket-handkerchief.