Harry, however, was equally exasperating. He said, "Oh, then I shall make it Monday, if you don't mind. Better a dinner of herbs on washing-day in peace and comfort than a stalled ox on Sunday with Spencer Gale to spoil one's appetite and digestion for it." But Emily rebuked him on my behalf. She had but to look at him to make him do what she wished, and I suppose she thought it good policy to propitiate the future mother-in-law. Phyllis, whom I had expected to please--for whose sake I had gone to all this trouble--was simply insolent. Alas! it is the tendency of girls in these days. Respect for parents, trust in their judgment and deference to their wishes, all the modest, dutiful ways that were the rule when I was young, seem quite to have gone out of fashion. You would have thought that she was the mother and I the daughter if you had heard how she spoke to me, and seen the superior air with which she stood over me to signify her royal displeasure. "Oh, well, you have just gone and spoilt the whole thing--that's all." I could have cried with mortification. But then, what's the use? It is only what wives and mothers must expect when they try to do their best for their families. I had another struggle with her on Sunday morning. She refused to accompany us to church. She said she was not going to offer herself to Spencer Gale as a companion for a half-hour's walk--that he was quite conceited enough without that; if other girls chose to run after him and spoil him, she didn't. As if _I_ would ask her to run after any man! And as if Emily or I could not have walked home with our guest! But I learned a little later what all this prudishness amounted to. When we came back from church--Emily, Lily, Spencer, and I--we found an empty drawing-room, Harry and Tom in armchairs on the verandah, and Phyllis away in the kitchen garden gathering strawberries for dessert with Dr. Juke! And I discovered that that young man had interpreted an invitation to lunch at half-past one as meaning that he should arrive punctually at twelve. Tom pretended that he had called professionally at that hour, and been persuaded to put his buggy up in our stables and remain. "And I suppose you persuaded him?" I said, trying--because Spencer was standing by me--to keep what I felt out of my voice. "Well, my dear," replied the fatuous man, "the truth is, he didn't want much pressing." There are times when I feel that I could shake Tom, he is so wooden-headed and silly--though so dear.