Owing to her restless night, Priscilla overslept and had to dress in a hurry to avoid being late to breakfast. By expedition she reached the dining room just after her mother had seated herself. Her father followed a half minute later, and leaning over her mother's chair kissed her cheek. "Know what day it is?"
"Of course, silly," laughed Mrs. Combs. "But I'm astonished to hear that you do."
Smiling broadly, Mr. Combs went around the table and took his seat. "We should have planned a celebration," he remarked.
"What, and advertise our advanced age!" exclaimed his wife in mock consternation.
"That's so," owned Mr. Combs with a chuckle. "I remember when a silver wedding seemed to me significant of extreme age. What do you think, daughter, of having parents old enough to have been married twenty-five years?"
Then Priscilla knew what was the matter with her. She thought of sitting opposite Horace Hitchcock twice a day, year in and year out, for a quarter of a century, and her heart turned sick within her. All at once she knew how his affections of manner would grate on one who watched them for twenty-five years. He had a way of raising his eye-brows and pursing his mouth which, she was convinced, would drive her frantic in course of time. And then her relentless common-sense, awake at last, went on to assure her that the Horace Hitchcock who had made love to her in the park the previous evening was in all essentials the smug, vain little boy nobody liked. She watched her father and mother exchanging smiles and knew that such good comradeship between Horace and herself was unthinkable. She doubted if there would be a smile left in her after twenty-five years of his society.
"You look tired this morning, Priscilla," said Mr. Combs. "And I can't say I wonder. That admirer of yours makes me rather—"
"He's a very pleasant boy, I'm sure," interrupted Mrs. Combs hastily, "though I wish his manners were just a little simpler. But he always looks so neat that it's refreshing to the eye. And by the way, dear, I think you had better see your tailor and get samples for your fall suit. You've got to the point where you must have something."
Priscilla did not notice her mother's dextrous changing of the subject. She was too absorbed in looking ahead twenty-five weary years. Of course, in view of her discovery, the only sensible thing to do was to get in touch with Horace, and tell him that the lady with whom he had been on such friendly terms in Babylon was an entirely different person. But that sane and simple way of escape never occurred to Priscilla. She had given her word. She must stand by it, no matter what it cost.
Amy came over about eleven o'clock, looking very penitent. "Priscilla," she said, "I don't blame you a bit for getting angry yesterday. I'm ashamed of what I said. Of course," added Amy, her natural candor getting the better of her, "Horace Hitchcock doesn't appeal to me, but that doesn't excuse me for calling him a manikin, and you have a right to choose your friends to please yourself."