“No, of course not. But what I mean is, do you think _now_ that I did right to marry him?” “Oh, _you're_ all right, Marcia. I'm glad you're getting along so well.” “No, no! Is Bartley all right?” The Squire laughed again, and rubbed his chin in enjoyment of her persistence. “You can't expect me to own up to everything all at once.” “So you see, Bartley,” said Marcia, in repeating these words to him, “it was quite a concession.” “Well, I don't know about the concession, but I guess there's no doubt about the check,” replied Bartley. “Oh, don't say that, dear!” protested his wife. “I think father was pleased with his visit every way. I know he's been anxious about me, all the time; and yet it was a good deal for him to do, after what he had said, to come down here and as much as take it all back. Can't you look at it from his side?” “Oh, I dare say it was a dose,” Bartley admitted. The money had set several things in a better light. “If all the people that have abused me would take it back as handsomely as your father has,”--he held the check up,--“why, I wish there were twice as many of them.” She laughed for pleasure in his joke. “I think father was impressed by everything about us,--beginning with baby,” she said, proudly. “Well, he kept his impressions to himself.” “Oh, that's nothing but his way. He never was demonstrative,--like me.” “No, he has his emotions under control,--not to say under lock and key,--not to add, in irons.” Bartley went on to give some instances of the Squire's fortitude when apparently tempted to express pleasure or interest in his Boston experiences. They both undeniably felt freer now that he was gone. Bartley stayed longer than he ought from his work, in tacit celebration of the Squire's departure, and they were very merry together; but when he left her, Marcia called for her baby, and, gathering it close to her heart, sighed over it, “Poor father! poor father!” XXIII.