“I’m afraid Cousin Rebekah Graves is a bit too strenuous for you.”
“Becky’s a trifle breezy, but anything’s better than a dead calm,” responded the Quakeress. “I am pleased that Marjorie is with the Fordyces; from what she says they must be charming people.”
“They are,” declared Tom with such positiveness that a faint gleam of amusement lit his companion’s eyes. “Has Marjorie been in to see you today?”
“No. She usually comes about this time on her return from market. Thee knows Mrs. Fordyce has turned the housekeeping over to her.”
“It strikes me they put a great deal on Marjorie....”
“Tut! Marjorie’s shoulders are young and broad. It would be better if the younger generation carried more responsibilities; too much is done for them by their elders. In my day”—dropping her knitting in her lap as she warmed to her subject—“the development of character went hand-in-hand with education; now, education is founded on indulgence. The modern child must be amused, spoiled, its fits of temper condoned....”
“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” quoted Tom, in open amusement.
“A sound doctrine,” affirmed Madame Yvonett with spirit. “And if the American nation is to endure, character in the child must be cultivated.”
“There’s a lot in what you say,” agreed Tom. “I came in this morning hoping to see you alone;” he rose and sat down close by her. “I am anxious to consult you about an incident that occurred yesterday afternoon in my quarters,” and in a few words he described the disappearance of the coin.
Madame Yvonett listened with absorbed attention to the story, and at its conclusion, sat back and gazed unbelievingly at Tom, her busy needles idly suspended in air.