"No!" exclaimed Stillwater decidedly. "My girl's a good, little Yankee and she shan't emigrate." He passed up and down the balcony, talking excitedly. "Yes, there's rich emigrants and poor emigrants—and it's leaving your country, bag and baggage. England's got the flower of our women already, and of course, now the men are following suit."
"You talk like a backwood's man," said Mrs. Bunker, contemptuously. "You've never been abroad."
"No. You can do the globe-trotting for the family. Is there anything better than this—in Europe?" He gave a comprehensive sweep of his head toward the lake and the woods. "Those Englishmen are wild over the place." Mrs. Bunker folded her arms patiently, while he continued his restless promenade. "Hit me between the eyes with the Jungfrau—what's the matter with the Rockies? All the snow I want—there. Where can you see another Niagara or a Yellowstone Park—or a stretch of balsam woods, like we have here in the Adirondacks—or a—"
"My dear Horatio," interrupted Mrs. Bunker, "your spread-eagleism is wasted on me. You can be sure of one thing—when Indiana marries, we won't be consulted. She'll please herself—"
Mr. Stillwater brought his hand down on the railing. "She can have anything the world affords—but I won't buy her a title!"
Mrs. Bunker swept inside, laughing good humoredly. Seating herself by the fire in the hall, she took up a square of chamois upon which she was embroidering the head of an Indian chief, in full war-paint.
"The others not back yet?" asked Glen, entering presently. "They're making a day of it." He placed the gun he carried in a corner of the hall and threw himself into a chair by the fire. "Those Englishmen are having the time of their lives. Lord Canning monopolizes Indiana, without considering whether it's agreeable to her—"
"She's not the kind to sacrifice herself, Glen," said Mrs. Bunker, smiling, and setting colored stones among the feathers on the forehead of the Indian chief.
Glen stared into the fire.
"I think they've been here quite long enough."