“Well, I am glad you extracted that much of a pledge from him. He will not get my consent in this life, I can assure him.”
“Nor mine without yours and Ruth’s,” said Major Welch, gravely. “I will write him and tell him what you say. Shall I mention it to Ruth? “
“No, of course not.”
Major Welch did not see why it should be “of course”; but he considered that his wife knew more of such things than he did, and he accordingly accepted her opinion without question.
“Where is Ruth?” he asked.
“She went with Dr. Still to see a sick woman he wanted me to see. I was not able to go this afternoon when he called, so I sent her. I don’t think there is much the matter with her.”
Major Welch sat for a moment in deep reflection. He was evidently puzzled. Suddenly he broke the silence.
“Prudence, you don’t mean that you wish that—that you think that young fellow is a suitable—ah—companion for our daughter?” That was not the word Major Welch meant.
“William!” exclaimed Mrs. Welch. She said no more, and it was not necessary. Major Welch felt that he had committed a great mistake—a terrible blunder. A moment before, he had had the best of the situation, and he had been conscious of a feeling of somewhat exalted virtue; now he had thrown it away. He felt very foolish, and though he hoped he did not show it, he did show it plainly. He began to defend himself: a further blunder.
“Well, my dear, how could I know? That young fellow has been coming over here day after day, with his horses and buggies, on one pretext or another—tagging after—not after you or me certainly—and you are as civil to him as if he were the—the President himself, and actually send the child off with him——”