It was a time to work, but also to muse and dream while working. In the air was something that invited, almost demanded reverie. Upon the fields there might lie many a mortgage, but who at such a time could worry over the harsh exactions of debt?
Nearly three weeks had passed, and not again in the Major's household had Pennington's name been mentioned. But once, alone with his wife, the Major was leading up to it when she held up her hands and besought him to stop. "I can't bear to think of it," she said. "It stuns and stupefies me. But it is of no use to say anything to her. She is of age and she is head-strong."
There was a dry rasp in the Major's throat. "Don't you think that to say she is a crank would be hitting nearer the mark?"
"No, I don't," his wife answered. "She is not a crank. She is a remarkably bright woman."
"Yes, she shows it. When a man does a fool thing he is weak, off, as they say; but when a woman jumps out of the enclosure of common sense we must say that she is bright."
"I thought you were going to shame her out of it?"
"I will, but she hasn't given me a chance. But we'll let it go. I believe she has repented of her folly and is too much humiliated to make a confession."
His wife smiled sadly. "Don't you think so?" he asked.
"No, I don't."
"Well, I must say that you are very calm over the situation."