She was genuinely distressed by Huntington's attitude. "I have set my heart upon it," she said firmly. "Through me his life was wrecked; it would be only justice if I helped him to find his happiness." At that moment Huntington wondered how Marian Seymour could ever have attracted him. He had told Hamlen that the alchemy of a woman's heart was past his comprehension, but he had believed that mothers' hearts were all the same. He knew that Mrs. Thatcher was devoted to her daughter, yet her insistence appeared to him inexplicable and reprehensible. Had his companion been a man he would have told him so; under the present circumstances he spoke more guardedly. "Being friends and allies, we should be frank in expressing our conviction," he explained; "this must excuse my otherwise unwarranted objections." "You know Merry now. Don't you agree with me that her interest is in men older than herself?" "Has she been consulted?" Mrs. Thatcher flushed. "No," she answered; "I shall not speak to her until Philip Hamlen has been persuaded." "You think she will acquiesce?" "I am sure of it. She may not understand at first, but I am certain that she will feel as I do. Who could fail to see that he would be an ideal husband for her?" "What would your life have been if you had married Hamlen?" "But he has changed,--he has learned much from his experience." "He is still, and always will be an abnormal personality," Huntington insisted. "Marriage, in my opinion, has no place in his life, and no woman could possibly endure his eccentricities. He can still find much to interest him among men, but I beg of you not to pursue an experiment which contains so many elements of danger." "You put it strongly, Mr. Huntington." "I feel it strongly; that must be my excuse." Mrs. Thatcher was visibly affected. It was several moments before she spoke, and Huntington could see that she resented his attitude. "You look at it wholly from a man's standpoint," she protested. "No one with Philip Hamlen's temperament can find the life he craves in companionship with men alone. Of course I respect your convictions, but you in turn must respect mine. I am so sure I am right that I cannot abandon the hope I have so long cherished. It will be more difficult of accomplishment without you, but if necessary I must carry it through alone." "Forgive me, Mrs. Thatcher,--but are you not thinking of him and of your obligation more than of your daughter?" "You surely don't think I would force Merry against her will!" "Sometimes we leave one a free moral agent," Huntington said pointedly, "and at the same time bind him with chains stronger than iron by expression of our own desires."