“You will understand when you take time to think it over,” said Inez, picking up her gloves and starting for the hall. “He does not mean it, Helen—truly he does not!”
“I do mean it,” urged Armstrong, as Inez disappeared. “I mean every word of it. She is your most intimate friend, and what could be more natural than for her to visit us? Why could it not be?”
Uncle Peabody answered:
“There are some things in Boston which are as old as anything you will find in Florence, Jack.”
Armstrong failed to catch the drift of Mr. Cartwright’s remarks.
“You are trying to avoid answering my question,” he replied. “To what do you refer that bears at all upon the present discussion?”
“Conventions,” said Uncle Peabody, calmly.
“Conventions!” Armstrong repeated the word with emphasis. “You don’t imagine that I am going to let local conventions tell me what to do when I get home?”
“I don’t imagine anything,” replied Uncle Peabody. “I was merely stating a fact.”
Helen saw the hot retort upon her husband’s lips. “I would not discuss this any more until after dinner,” she said, quietly, as she rose. “As Jack says, it is a perfectly natural thing for Inez to visit me. It is possible that it can be arranged in some way.”