Gorham laughed. "Well, wasn't he right?"
"That isn't the question. Even a privileged servant ought not to presume too far."
Gorham did not speak for a moment. "Do you know, Eleanor," he said at length, "that idea regarding Riley never entered my head before. He was the bloody tyrant of my childhood, and I would have incurred even my much-dreaded father's wrath rather than risk a disagreement with Riley. Actually, if he had disapproved, I question whether I should have dared to marry you! Even now I can feel my old-time trembling coming on at the thought of reproving him because he prevented you from overdoing. He would consider me an ingrate for not recognizing that it was done in my best interests, and I should positively lose caste."
Mrs. Gorham laughed in spite of her temporary chagrin in the face of her husband's genuine discomfiture, which he tried to conceal by the lightness of his words. She wondered at the extremes he manifested—quiet but firm and immovable as the rock of Gibraltar in his business dealings, unaggressive and yielding in all which had to do with his home life. She hastened to withdraw her complaint.
"Don't worry about Riley," she laughed. "The next time I want to do something of which he doesn't approve, I'll have it done before he knows anything about it."
"You don't think I'm supporting Riley against you, do you?"
"No, indeed," Eleanor replied, smiling; "I understand your feelings about him."
Gorham drew a sigh of relief. "I always want you to bring everything to me, Eleanor—everything, no matter how slight, which worries you. You will always do that, won't you?"
"Of course"; Mrs. Gorham looked up quickly.
"You always have, haven't you, dear?"