What resulted was a great proficiency in the things that pleased her, and ignorance of the other things. Her father bought her a piano, on which she did not play much, and he bought her whatever dresses she fancied. He never came home from a journey without bringing her something; and he liked to take her with him when he went away to other places. She had been several times at Portland, and once at Montreal; he was very proud of her; he could not see that any one was better-looking, or dressed any better than his girl.
He came into the kitchen, and sat down with his hat on, and, taking his chin between his fingers, moved uneasily about on his chair.
“What's brought you in so early?” asked his wife.
“Well, I got through,” he briefly explained. After a while he said, “Bartley Hubbard's been out there.”
“You don't mean 't he knew she—”
“No, he didn't know anything about that. He came to tell me he was going away.”
“Well, I don't know what you're going to do, Mr. Gaylord,” said his wife, shifting the responsibility wholly upon him. “'D he seem to want to make it up?”
“M-no!” said the Squire, “he was on his high horse. He knows he aint in any danger now.”
“Aint you afraid she'll carry on dreadfully, when she finds out 't he's gone for good?” asked Mrs. Gaylord, with a sort of implied satisfaction that the carrying on was not to affect her.
“M-yes,” said the Squire, “I suppose she'll carry on. But I don't know what to do about it. Sometimes I almost wish I'd tried to make it up between 'em that day; but I thought she'd better see, once for all, what sort of man she was going in for, if she married him. It's too late now to do anything. The fellow came in to-night for a quarrel, and nothing else; I could see that; and I didn't give him any chance.”