"Poor Indiana! Most unheard-of proceedings!" During dinner Indiana plied Lord Stafford with questions about her family, all of which he answered seriously, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Lady Canning regarded her unconscious face with growing sympathy. She went to her rooms immediately after dinner. "I shall not make my appearance," she thought, "until all the excitement is over. I am upset enough as it is. I can scarcely look at that poor child—I feel so badly for her." Indiana, entering the library demurely, and seeing that Thurston and Lord Stafford were alone, rushed toward them with a shrill little cry. She laughed as they both started to their feet. "I’m only giving vent to my repressed exuberance. I can be natural with Uncle Nelson, can’t I, Thurston?" "Why not be natural with my mother? It pains me to see you playing a part with her. She’s not such a dreadful person." Indiana smiled comically at Lord Stafford, sinking down upon the hearth-rug at his feet. "The ingratitude of men! He asked me to make his mother love him, and to succeed it was necessary to adapt myself to her ways. If I had argued with her, he would have disagreed so radically it would have been impossible to live under the same roof. I know that it is a necessity at present, so I agree with her in everything. Consequently, I’m the best, the most lovable girl in the world. All the same, I own her, body and soul—that’s my method of subjugation. Of course, he’s not satisfied. Nothing I do pleases him." "Indiana!" "Uncle Nelson, I’m frightfully good," continued Indiana, ignoring Thurston, whose eyes were fastened upon her in mute and tender reproach. "I’ve never been so good in my life"—she clasped her hands, raising her eyes to the ceiling—"I feel like an angel—so sweet, so obedient, so ordinary. Thurston doesn’t appreciate it. He doesn’t love me as much as he did before we were married." "Indiana!" exclaimed Thurston, seriously, "how can you say that?" "I thought he was a gentleman of leisure, and he works harder than a farm hand. He sits up half the night, reading and studying. If I had known he was such a great scholar I wouldn’t have married him." "Indiana, do you mean that?" "No,"—serious face—"I was only joking. Uncle Nelson, do you think he will ever be a great man?" Lord Stafford glanced amusedly at Thurston. "I hope so." "Oh, as great as Thomas Carlyle? Don’t say yes, because I’ll run away. You know what Jane Carlyle said about the wives of men of genius? They’re more miserable even—than—than doctors’ wives. Thurston has symptoms. He sits up all night and writes like Carlyle. Between times the old crank used to go out in the back yard, and sit on the fence and smoke a pipe—in his night-shirt. That’s the next thing I’ll get." The two men laughed heartily. "You little witch," exclaimed Thurston, catching her up in his arms and kissing her, "you are simply irresistible!"