"I've had so much to think of, since this afternoon. I wasn't at all sleepy."
She looked at Thurston with wide-awake, luminous eyes, as he placed a footstool under her feet. "How is Indiana? Is she sleeping?"
"Yes," answered Thurston.
"I'm glad of that, poor little thing! Such a cruel surprise! The excitement was too much for her."
"Yes, the excitement," repeated Thurston, mechanically.
Jennings left the room, after he had brushed some imaginary ashes from the hearth and arranged the curtains. Thurston showed no sign of the strain under which he was suffering, as he talked gently with his mother. Once in a while his eyes sought the clock, and his ears, preternaturally sharpened by anxiety, heard an imaginary hansom, bearing Indiana homeward. Their conversation reverted to his wife's people.
"I don't object to the father and mother," said Lady Canning. "We have one great point of sympathy—our love for Indiana. But the grandmother—Thurston, is she quite well balanced?"
Thurston laughed. "She's a shining light, mother—a prominent member of women's clubs." Lady Canning shuddered. "A very shrewd, clever woman."
"It's wonderful how people differ in their conception of things," said Lady Canning, with a sigh. "If she were my mother, I should consider it necessary for her to have a personal attendant. What do you think she said to me? That 'I ought to make more out of myself,' and if I would come over to the hotel, she'd fix me up." Lady Canning looked at her son with a shocked expression. He laughed involuntarily, and she finally joined him, seeing the amusing side of Mrs. Bunker's remark. "Well, we'll get along with them, won't we?" continued Lady Canning, taking Thurston's hand affectionately in hers. "They have given us our Indiana. I'm going to make a great effort for her sake. I'm going to present her myself at the first drawing-room of the season."
"Mother!" exclaimed Thurston, in surprise.