He looked at me: "I warn you, Ted! You see what you are letting yourself in for. As far as I can judge, you haven't been consulted any more than I have."
"Father!" Helen interrupted.
"I hope you are prepared never to have your own way again, Edward, from this time forth."
"You can't frighten Ted that way," laughed Helen; "we both want the same things."
Mr. Claybourne snorted: "You hear that, Ted?"
I took Helen's hand, and she held it tight against her violets, crushing them and staining my palm with their fragrant juice. I didn't dare trust myself to speak.
"And now that it is all settled, let's break it to mother," Mr. Claybourne exploded with a grim attempt at his usual humour. He left the room without giving us a chance to object. I looked at Helen's face, more beautiful now than I had ever dreamed a woman's could be. A large tear rolled down her cheek, and I fell on my knees beside her, burying my face in her lap. She stroked my head.
"I'm not crying, Ted dear—I'm not the crying kind. I am just so happy I guess a—a little of it—overflowed." I kissed her wet cheek, and we sat in silence, waiting. Sounds of sobbing came from the stairs, and of patient, consolatory remarks. Helen smiled: "Poor mother—it sounds horrid to say it, but she always acts her part perfectly."
"Mother" entered, with smelling salts and dainty lace handkerchief, collapsed on her husband's shoulder, striving wonderfully for hysterics.
"Ted," said Mr. Claybourne, leading his wife to an easy chair, "I don't believe you are a very popular young man with part of the family—Lucy, I want you to shake hands with your future son-in-law."