"So it seems," he answered, stroking her hand, and watchful of Indiana, whose face, however, maintained its serious expression. From this conversation, Lady Canning was artfully led by her daughter-in-law into delivering a homily on the seriousness of life, and the necessity of control, where the pleasure-loving instincts of the young were concerned. Indiana took every opportunity of agreeing with her, sitting up stiffly, like a flaxen-haired doll, in the high backed chair, nodding at intervals, and with an expression of grave self-importance, that contrasted oddly with her rosebud prettiness. Meeting Thurston’s eyes, which were fixed upon her in open surprise, she frowned reprovingly, and drew herself up a little more stiffly. "This is a very happy moment for me," said Lady Canning, with a gentle sigh, "to have you with me again, Thurston—with your wife—I can hardly realize it yet. I think Indiana and I are going to be very congenial, Thurston. Come here, and sit down by me, my dear child." Indiana obeyed, and Lady Canning took her hand and patted it gently. "Now I have a son and a daughter. I hope you will be happy in your new home, my dear." "Thank you, Lady Canning," said Indiana, "I intend to be happy." "That’s right. Now, though we have much to say, I think it advisable to reserve it for this evening. It is best that I should rest until dinner." "I hope this has not been too much excitement for you, mother," said Thurston, solicitously, giving her his arm. "Pleasant excitement will not harm me, but I must be careful. I will see you at dinner, Indiana." She kissed her on the forehead. Thurston led her to the door, Indiana accompanying them. "I did not know you were such an artist in dissimulation, Indiana," said Thurston, taking her head in his hands and gazing into her mischievous eyes. "To what are you referring, may I ask?" she inquired, in a dignified tone. "Why, the tactics you have begun with my mother. She thinks you are a perfect paragon." "And, am I not?" drawing herself up. "Yes," answered Thurston, laughing and kissing her hands. Indiana found dinner a slow and tedious ceremony. It was noiselessly served, without the clatter of a dish or the sound of a footfall. At intervals, Jennings’ old face peered into hers, consulting her wishes in a whisper. Their places were set very far apart at the large, round table, handsomely equipped with heavy silver and crystal, as though for a formal banquet, and decorated with white roses and maidenhair fern, in honor of the bride. She had selected from her trousseau a French gown of white satin, showing her childish neck. The maid had dressed her yellow hair in puffs in the correct English style. She was very quiet during dinner. Her head still felt a little unsteady from the steamer, and when Thurston or Lady Canning spoke, their voices sounded very far away.