"
"I don't like the idea of your using your own name. Ladies may
unfortunately be obliged to earn their own living--and that you shall never
do when I am rich--but they have no business putting their names up before
the public like men."
Gora looked at his rigid indomitable face; the face of the Pilgrim fathers,
of the revolutionary statesmen, which he had inherited intact from old John
Dwight who had sat in the first congress; the American classic face that is
passing but still crops out as unexpectedly as the last drop from a long
forgotten "tar brush," or the sly recurrent Biblical profile.
"We will make a bargain," she said calmly. "I will ask you no more
questions about your business for a year--when, if convenient, I should
like my money--and you will kindly ignore the literary career I mean to
have. It won't do you the least good in the world to formulate opinions
about anything I choose to do. Now, better concentrate on Alexina. You've
got your hands full there. See you at breakfast." And she shut the door on
an indignant worried and disgusted brother.
CHAPTER IV
I
When Mortimer, after tapping on his wife's door, was bidden to enter he
found her sitting with Aileen over a breakfast tray, the belated tears
running down into her coffee. Aileen, promising to return after she had
given her father his breakfast, made a hasty retreat; and Dwight took his
wife in his arms and soothed the grief which grew almost hysterical in its
reaction from the insensibility of the morning.
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