"It’s worth crossing the ocean to hear that—from you," said Glen, with a superior air. "But I won’t sit down here—the place chokes me. I’ve brought a hansom, and we’ll jump in and take a spin about, till it’s time to join the folks at dinner." "I’m not going," said Indiana, without meeting his eyes. "My husband won’t let me." "Your husband won’t let you? Poor child—so it’s come to this!" Indiana’s pride rose in arms. "Don’t waste any sympathy!" she exclaimed, her eyes flashing. "I’m perfectly happy, I assure you." "Yes, you look it," said Glen, skeptically. "I understand it’s a case of jealousy. He’s trying to wean you from your own people. I suppose I won’t be allowed to see anything of you either. I’m glad they let me in this time, to get one glimpse of you. Next time it will be ’Not at home’ or ’Engaged.’ I’m very sorry you couldn’t come this one night. It’ll spoil the evening for all of us, and I had so much to tell you. But I won’t keep you. Good-bye." "Glen!" cried Indiana, clenching her hands and stamping her foot. "How can you act like that? I’m no prisoner. I can go if I want to—but I don’t want to." "That makes it worse than ever," replied Glen, seriously. "We sympathize with you, in the other case, but now we must have the pride not to beg when you turn upon us. Good night!" This was more than Indiana could bear. "Glen, I’ll go!" she exclaimed, desperately. He came back slowly into the room, his eyes shining with joy. "Will you, Indiana?" "Just sit down and I’ll slip into a dress. I shan’t be long, Glen." "Yes." "We’ll have a good time, altogether, this one night." Her resolve, once taken, she threw scruples to the wind. Glen, walking restlessly up and down the room after she had gone to dress, spied her photograph on a cabinet. First looking suspiciously around him, he took possession of it and kissed it passionately. "Poor little thing," he murmured, gazing on the photograph, and seating himself in a comfortable position, his feet on the table. "Now the first blaze of glory is over, and you find—you’re in for life—what are you going to do, little western bobolink, with your wings clipped, and your little eyes peering over the cruel ocean? Oh, you’ll never complain—you’re too proud." He let the photograph fall, and buried his face in his hands.