"Thank you, very much," said Thurston, sinking into his chair.
"Now, you're mad. You won't be so foolish as to make a fuss about nothing." Thurston looked at him, in incomprehending surprise.
"Mr. Stillwater, do you know that my wife left the house against my express wish and command? Drove away from my door on Sunday evening with a gentleman not her husband."
"Yes, I know all about it, my boy," answered Stillwater. "But it was only Glen—just the same as her own brother."
"My household does not know that. The appearance of such a proceeding is not favorable."
"I know—but it's Indiana's way of doing things," said Stillwater, rather impatiently. "Just because you said she shouldn't, she would. Now, if you handled her a little better—you'll excuse me, but I've known her longer than you—"
"You may have known her longer, but I doubt if you understand her better. As to handling her, as you call it, I will never stoop to bribe or cajole her into doing her duty."
"That's all right," continued Stillwater. He was there on an errand of conciliation, and, though his son-in-law's argument seemed absurdly precise and conventional, and he assured himself that he did not approve of any such cut-and-dried policy, he was determined to carry out his intention. "I approve of the stand you are taking, but commence after we're gone. It seems rather mean to spoil mother's holiday, doesn't it? Now come along, and Indy will receive you with open arms. It'll be all right, I promise you."
Thurston felt irritated by his father-in-law's free-and-easy good nature, his light way of disposing of a matter which struck the core of all that was sacred to him.
"I am very sorry to mar your pleasure," he answered, firmly and coldly. "This is the first time my wife has openly defied my wishes. It must be the last. If I give in, it will be the beginning of endless repetitions. And I shall fall in line behind her, like a good American husband."