"Oh, yes, old Pink is the pink of propriety, no doubt about that!" said the rascal, laughing heartily at his heartless pun.

But I couldn't laugh. I saw plainly enough that I had lost more than all the ground that I had gained in my mother-in-law's favor, and my task would be harder than ever. I had no more desire to play cards, and sauntered down stairs and out of doors as if nothing had happened. At the tea-table Mrs. Pinkerton was very impressive in her manner, but showed no direct consciousness of anything new. On the piazza, after tea, she was uncommonly affable to her daughter, and, I thought, a little disposed to keep Bessie from talking to me. The latter appeared troubled somewhat, and looked at me in an anxious way, as if longing to rush into my arms and ask me all about it and say how willingly she forgave me; but her mother kept her within the circle of her influence, and I sat apart, harboring unutterable thoughts and saying nothing. At last Mrs. Pinkerton arose, and said sweetly, "I wouldn't stay out any later, dear, it is rather damp."

"Stay with me, Bessie," I said, "I want to speak to you. Your mother is at liberty to go in whenever she pleases." It was then she gave me a disdainful look and swept in, and I muttered the wish regarding her transportation to a distant clime, which brought out the gentle rebuke with which this story opens.

I saw no prospect of enjoying a longer stay at the Fairview, unless some burglary or terrible accident should occur to give me chance for a new display of my heroic qualities, and even then, I thought, it would be of no use, for I should spoil it all next day. So we determined to go home a week earlier than we had intended. The Marstons were going to Canada and Lake George, and wouldn't reach home till October. Mr. Desmond and his niece stayed a month longer where they were, and that would bring them home about the same time. Bessie and I went home with a lack of that buoyant bliss with which we had travelled to the mountains and spent those first two weeks. There was no change in us, but it was all due to my mother-in-law.

CHAPTER VI.

WHAT IS HOME WITHOUT A MOTHER-IN-LAW?

Home! We were back from the mountains, and our brief wedding-journey had become a thing of the past. Mrs. Pinkerton's iron-bound trunk had been reluctantly deposited in her bed-chamber by a puffing and surly hack-driver; and here was I, installed in the little cottage as head of the household, for weal or for woe. It was Mrs. Pinkerton's cottage, to be sure, but I entered it with the determination not to live there as a boarder or as a guest subject to the proprietor's condescending hospitality. I was able and not unwilling to establish a home of my own, and inasmuch as I refrained from doing so because of Mrs. Pinkerton's desire to keep her daughter with her, I had the right to consider myself under no obligation to my mother-in-law.

The cottage was far from being a disagreeable place in itself. It was small, but extremely neat and pleasant. The rooms were furnished with a degree of quiet taste that defied criticism. The hand of an accomplished housekeeper was everywhere made manifest, and everything had an air of refinement and comfort. There was no ostentatious furniture; the chairs were made to sit in, but not to put one's boots on. The cleanliness of the house was terrible. One could see that no man had lived there since the death of the late Pinkerton.

Our room was the same that had been occupied by Bessie since she was a school-girl in short frocks. It was full of Bessie's "things," and it was lucky that my effects occupied but very little s.p.a.ce.

"This is jolly," I said, as I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled a cigar from my pocket. "How soon will supper be ready, I wonder?"

There was no response. Bessie was unpacking,-and such an unpacking!

I lighted my cigar and threw myself back on the bed, wondering how they had got on without me at the bank. Presently in came mother-in-law to lend a hand at the unpacking. She did not see me at first, but the fragrance of my Manila soon reached her nostrils, and she turned.

Such a look as she cast upon me! It almost took my breath away. But she did not say a word. "The subject is beyond her powers of speech," I said to myself. "Let us hope it will be so as a general thing."

However, it made me feel uncomfortable, so by and by I got off the bed and went down stairs.

At the supper-table I tried to make myself as agreeable as possible. I talked over the trip, and spoke of the people we had met at the mountains; but I had most of the conversation to myself. Bessie did not seem to be in a mood to chat; Mrs. Pinkerton devoted herself to impaling me with her eyes once in a while; in a word, the mental atmosphere was muggy.

"Desmond has travelled a great deal," I said. "I was speaking of French politics the other day, and he gave me a long harangue on the situation.

He was in Paris several years, when he was a good deal younger than he is now."

"Mr. Desmond is not a very old man," said Mrs. Pinkerton, "but he has pa.s.sed that age when men think they know all there is to be known."

I accepted this shot good-naturedly, and laughed.

"His niece is a remarkably bright girl," I continued. "Don't you think so?"

"I cannot say I think it either bright or proper for a young lady to go off alone on mountain excursions for half a day, and return with her dress torn and her hands all scratched."

"Well, it was rather imprudent, but you know she said she had no intention of going so far when she started, and she missed her way."

"I did not hear her excuses. She appeared to be a spoiled child, and her manners were insufferably offensive. I should have known she came from New York, even if I had not been told."

"Do you think all New-Yorkers are loud?"

"I said no such thing. There is a cla.s.s of New York young people who are so 'loud' that respectable people cannot have anything to do with them without lowering themselves. Miss Van Duzen belongs to that cla.s.s."

"You are rough on her, upon my word. I don't think she's half so bad, do you, Bessie?"

"I liked her very much," said Bessie. "She may not be our style exactly, but I think at heart she is a good, true girl."

"I wonder if she will call," I said. "By the way, Fred Marston is coming out to see us as soon as he gets back to the city."

"As to that young man," Mrs. Pinkerton remarked, with some show of vivacity, "he impressed me as being little less than disreputable."

"Disreputable! I would have you understand that Fred Marston is one of my friends," I exclaimed, growing angry, "and he is as respectable as the rector of St. Thomas's Church!"

Phew! Now I had done it. Mrs. Pinkerton was thoroughly scandalized and offended. She got up, and we left the table, Bessie looking troubled. I went into the library, and after lighting a cigar, sat down to read the papers. Bessie, who had followed me, brushed the journal out of my hand and seated herself on my knee.

"Charlie," she said, kissing me, and smoothing the hair away from my brow, "can't you and mamma ever get along any better than this?"

"A conundrum! I never guessed one, so I shall have to give this up. But don't you see how it is, dearest? I try to be good to her, and she won't meet me half-way. On the contrary, she tries to nag me, I think. It wasn't my fault to-night. What right has she to run down my friends? If she don't like them, she might leave them alone, and be precious sure they'd leave her alone. She don't like smoking; I tried to swear off, tried mighty hard, but it was no use. You see-"

"It wasn't quite necessary for you to make that remark about the Rev.

Dr. McCanon, was it, Charlie?"

"Well, no; I'm sorry, but she provoked me to it. I'll apologize."

"And then, Charlie, you will try to be a little more patient with mamma, won't you?"

"Yes, I do try, but the trouble is that she don't like me. Must I keep my mouth shut, throw away my cigars, bounce all my friends, and sit up with my arms folded?"

"Oh, no, dear. Be good to her, and be patient; it will all come around right in time."

That was Bessie's way of lightening present troubles,-"It will all come around right in time." Blessed hope! "Man never is, but always to be blest."

My duties now kept me at the bank nearly all day, and for a few weeks affairs went on at home very smoothly. At table Mrs. Pinkerton maintained a sphinx-like silence, and I directed my conversation to Bessie. When the old lady opened her mouth, it was to snub me. The snub direct, the snub indirect, the snub implied, and the snub far-fetched,-I submitted to all with a cheerful spirit, and not a hasty retort escaped me.

At Bessie's request, I now smoked only in the library, or in our own room. I bought a highly ornamental j.a.panese affair, of curious workmanship, as a receptacle for cigar-ashes. Altogether, I behaved like a good boy.

One evening Marston dropped in. When his card was brought up stairs, I handed it over to Bessie, and hurried to the library.

"How are you, old man?" he said, or, rather, shouted. "How do you like it, as far as you've got?"

"Tip-top. I'm glad to see you. When did you get back?"

"Last Sat.u.r.day, and mighty glad to get back to a live place, too.

Smoke?"

"Thank you. Bessie will be down in a minute."

"How's old Pink?"

"S-s-h! She's all right. Don't speak so confoundedly loud."