The school-teacher wheeled in her open but inhospitable door, with something like reproach in her eyes, and said: "No!"
"Then you can't escape me. I'll stay in town this Sunday, and you shall hear it all from the beginning. You—you've brought it on yourself now."
The two moderns looked at each other. And the young man in the tall hat was breathing rather hard.
"But—wouldn't that disappoint your mother? I know—I've noticed—that you never let anything interfere ..."
His look changed perceptibly at that. And still, it was not the son, not the old critic of Egoettes, who answered, slightly chagrined:—
"What time have you to give me, then? Some day in the summer vacation?"
Mary Wing's eyes fell to her hand on the door-knob. "I hoped," she said, "that you would come in now."
"But your—your work?"
"I—thought I would take a holiday to-day."
So they went into the house. And Charles stood alone in the Wings' silent hall, slowly pulling off his wedding-gloves.