"Martha, you are a child. You are a young girl, with no experience. And I tell you you must be careful. You mustn't run risks. You—— There are so many dangers, child!"
"That's just saying those nasty things about him—to talk like that—about danger. Do you think I'm a fool? Dad does!"
"I think you're—young, Martha."
"That's the same thing when you say it that way, mother. Honestly, it'll be all right when I tell you! If you'll call dad off till next week!"
With that much comfort Emily went back to Bob. And she lived till the next Monday a trembling flag of truce between two armies furious to spring into combat.
On Friday Martha stayed in bed till late in the morning, and then came down and said to her mother:
"I'm going to Elgin. Do you want to go with me?"
Emily couldn't well go.
"I won't be back till three or four. And I'm going to have supper with Greta. You needn't worry about me. Richard Quin went to Chicago last night. I don't want to stay in the house all day Sunday with father, so I'm going over to-morrow to Wrights'. They've asked me. You don't mind if I go? I won't be seeing anybody you object to. They'll bring me back Sunday evening."
The prospect of another scene between Bob and Martha was more frightful to Emily than whatever explanation was forthcoming next week. She couldn't help believing that in some way Martha would clear herself from blame. She wanted to believe that she was unreasonable, that her daughter was right. But she would insist on Martha apologizing to Bob as soon as they both cooled down. She could always manage Bob, some way—by tears, if by nothing else, because she had never exercised their authority over him; he wasn't used to them. She knew he surrendered when one tear showed in her eyes. And now since this burden of fear for the child weighed her down, no feigning was required. Tears were just there, waiting to come. Why couldn't Martha appreciate Bob? And why should Bob be irritable only with his poor little daughter? A man who was so successful in managing a lot of overalled workmen. If only Martha had been a boy! Emily, like Bob, had never before been sorry she was a girl. Never! That is—except just now, when she wouldn't get on with her father.