"It's not so, Grandma Chazy. I do just as I like. I allow no one to compel me."
"You're quite right to ask your husband, and, if it's against his religious views, you stay home and read the Bible to his mother." Mrs. Bunker went to the mirror, arranging her hat, as if the question had been settled.
"It's not so!" exclaimed Indiana, rising and stamping her foot. "You don't understand the conditions of life over here."
"It's the thing in London now, to dine out on Sunday nights. You can't tell me, Indiana Stillwater."
"It may be the thing, but we don't do it. Must I tell you again I have married into a very conservative family?"
"We're not good enough for you, now," replied Mrs. Bunker, sarcastically.
"I'll always love my own people, but I won't be blind to their faults. We lack culture and repose."
"You may be right, Indy," said Mr. Stillwater, hitherto a silent listener. "But if you keep cultivating a field of wheat right along, you'll cultivate it till it doesn't produce anything. They're running to seed fast here—and we're still bearing strong. Repose! Let them have it. Thank heaven, we youngsters are always on our feet. Now, mother!" Mrs. Stillwater was crying. At the sight of her tears Indiana capitulated.
"I'll come, mother," she said, despairingly, throwing herself on her knees beside her.
"Darling!" cried Mrs. Stillwater. "Don't you think we ought to ask Thurston?"