"Come right in, Ted," he greeted me cheerfully. "Don't worry if mother doesn't act very pleased to see you. We'll bring her around in time."
Once inside, I found Mrs. Claybourne sitting red-eyed upon the sofa, flanked by Miss Hershey on one side and Helen on the other. The air was slightly electrical; I walked gingerly for fear of touching something off. From Helen's eyes mischief gleamed as she sent a welcoming smile in my direction.
At dinner the vext subject was not mentioned. Mrs. Claybourne steadily refused food; otherwise we all tried to act as if nothing unusual was toward. Helen sat next me, and her foot played a silent and sympathetic tattoo upon mine all through the meal. Mr. Claybourne read the evening paper, or pretended to. Miss Hershey gave an occasional sigh to indicate that her sympathies were entirely with Mrs. Claybourne. Helen and I ate with splendid appetites.
After dinner we seated ourselves in a solemn circle in the drawing room—a disposition of the household that revealed a careful plan on Mr. Claybourne's part.
"Now, mother," he began to his wife when we were all seated, "these two young people want to get married."
At this simple statement of fact Mrs. Claybourne collapsed. Through many sobs Miss Hershey at last inserted a bottle of smelling salts. Mr. Claybourne waited patiently for the first paroxysm to pass. I held Helen's hand.
"It will have to be some time in July," Mr. Claybourne resumed, "as Ted's father has ordered him to sail for England on August first."
"I—I—didn't expect you to turn against me too," sobbed and choked Mrs. Claybourne, "and stand by while our only da—daughter was ca—carried off to—to England."
Mr. Claybourne returned gently and patiently to the attack. "Now, mother, we went all through this before when they were engaged. It is natural for two engaged people to get married."
"N—not when one of them is a ch—child," she wailed. "I'll never consent—never—not until Helen is twenty-one."