Constance rose from her seat.
“Will you come with us, Constance?” said her mother.
“Not this evening, mother. I wish to read a little in my room.” After bidding them good-night, she left the room.
“Wise girl—strong-minded girl, knows her own mind,” muttered Mr. Churton, shaking his head, conscious, poor man, that he had anything but a strong mind, and that he didn't know it.
His wife darted an angry look at him, but said nothing.
“My dear,” he resumed. “On second thoughts I must ask to be excused. I shall also retire to my room to read a little.”
“Very well,” she answered, evidently relieved.
“I don't quite agree with you, my dear. I don't think it is very well. There's an old saying that you can choke a dog with pudding, and I fancy we have too much religion in this house,” and here becoming excited, he struck the table with his fist.
“Mr. Churton, I cannot listen to such talk!” said his wife, rising from her seat.
Fan also rose, a little startled at this domestic jangling, but not alarmed, for it was by no means of so formidable a character as that to which she had been accustomed in the old days.