"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I intend to be taken seriously, or not at all."
They all gasped at this temerity from such an unexpected quarter. Stillwater peeped at Indiana from under the corner of his handkerchief.
"No man has ever yet dictated to me," said Indiana, majestically.
"It's more than I'd do," murmured Stillwater.
"Men are generally only too glad if I will tolerate them on any terms," continued Indiana.
"Well, I'm not like others; but never mind, Indiana—that's true enough—I ought to be glad to be tolerated on any terms." He smiled resignedly around on the circle. He was afraid he had gone too far. At all events, their little skirmishes generally ended this way. Indiana felt a slight misgiving as she took up her book again. Glen, her slave and comrade, was one person, but Glen, who wished to be taken seriously, with a pale set face and glowing eyes, was another.
"What are you making, ma?" inquired Stillwater.
"A little woolen cape, with a darling hood attached, for Indiana. Just to put on her when she's roaming after dinner in the mountains. It's so chilly there, when the sun goes down."
"You're always making something for her," said Stillwater.