Old Mr. Lansing was furious.
“Why couldn’t you stay with your cousin?” he demanded of Vashti. “Going off buggy-riding from a funeral!! A fine speculation she’s made of herself.”
“I haven’t seen Mabella since we left home,” said Vashti softly, then she added deprecatingly:
“It’s Mabella’s way.”
“Then it’s a d——d bad way,” said old Lansing, and then nearly choked with rage to think he had sworn in his Sunday black, which was so eloquent a reminder of his deaconship. He cut the fat bays across the haunches in a way that surprised them.
“Just wait till I see Lanty! And let her keep out of my sight!”
Sudden tears filled Vashti’s eyes. She was sick at the heart with jealous pain. Sidney caught the glimmer of the tear, and felt a great throb of pity for this stately creature, who, fixed in her rectitude and dignity, could yet weep over thoughtless Mabella’s little escapade. Needless to say Sidney saw nothing very dreadful in the two lovers driving home together; indeed, from the glimpse he had had of Lanty’s face, he had no doubt but that after the burial of his friend, Lanty was in sore need of his sweetheart’s consolation.
“Dear!” said Vashti, “I do hope Mabella will go straight home.”
“I guess you hope more’n you expect, then,” said her father irately.
Vashti sighed.