"He never spoke like that to any other friend, Martha. He's patient with them all. He never——
"Well, I don't want him sitting round to be PATIENT with my friends. I can never tell when he'll fly off the handle and beat some of them up."
"You know why he doesn't like this man. No father would like to see his daughter——"
"What?" Martha challenged.
"Having her name connected with a married man."
"There you go, mother. You can't find any objection to him but that."
"That's enough for us."
"We don't seem to agree."
"We've got to, Martha." Emily felt herself trembling. She felt that she was calling to her very child across a great gulf. The living room with its hideous tableau stretched out distantly, and Martha and "that man" stood together by the victrola there, away, away beyond an alienating stretch, and she and Bob stood together by the door, trying to speak to her. She felt it so vividly that her voice touched the angry girl; for Martha came and sat down by her and said, earnestly:
"Oh, mammie, I—I wouldn't quarrel with you for anything. It doesn't matter about dad. But you—mother—you always understood me before. What is the matter now? Can't you trust me? What do you think I'm going to do—to commit some crime?"