“Good gracious, child, how stupid you are! When men are driven to extremities, surely his coming out among them—and he the cause of it all—was defiance enough. But a full account is in the paper I bought at the station; it is on the hall table, where you would have seen it if you could have kept your temper. Read it if you want to. It is not me you are disobeying when you do so. Remember, it was your father who did not want you to see the paper.”
The day proved a long one to Edna Sartwell, and, when her father did not return at the usual hour, she became more and more anxious. Her step-mother said nothing about the delay, as the hours passed, but began to assume that air of patient resignation which became her so well. Dinner was served to the minute, and at the accustomed moment the table was cleared. Once or twice she chided Edna for her restlessness, and regretted she had to speak, but was compelled to do so because the good example she herself set was so palpably unappreciated. At last she said:
“Edna, go to bed. I will wait up for your father.”
“He is sure to be home soon. Please let me wait until he comes.”
There was silence for a few minutes.
“I don’t wish to ask you twice, Edna. You heard what I said.”
“Please do not send me away until father comes. I am so anxious! Let me sit up instead of you. I can’t sleep if I do go to bed. Won’t you let me sit up in your place?”
The martyred look came into the thin face of her step-mother—the look which told of trials uncomplainingly borne.’
“I have always sat up for your father, and always shall, so long as we are spared to each other. For the third time I ask you to go to bed.”
The girl sat where she was, the red flag of rebellion in her cheek. The glint of suppressed anger in Mrs. Sartwell’s eye showed that a point had been reached where one or the other of them had to leave the room defeated. The elder woman exhibited her forbearance by speaking in the same level tone throughout.