The impetuous girl paused in her preparations. “Then why do you exasperate me beyond endurance by refusing to tell me what happened?” “I refuse! I refuse you nothing. Better would it have been for me if I had when you were younger; then you would think twice before you flung all obedience to the winds. You have only to ask what you want to know, and listen with patience while it is told to you.” “I have asked you a dozen times.” “How you do exaggerate! I call it exaggeration, although I might perhaps be forgiven for using a harsher term. Exactitude of statement is more----” “Will you tell me, or shall I go?” “Have I not just said that I will tell you anything? What is it you want to know? Your own ridiculous conduct has driven everything out of my head.” “You said my father had defied the men and was in danger yesterday.” “Oh, that! After seeing the police guard Mr. Hope and Mr. Monkton through the lawless mob, what must your father do but show how brave he was compared with his superiors. He came out of the gates alone, and walked through the mob.” “What did he say?” “He didn’t say anything.” “Then how did he defy the men?” “Good gracious, child, how stupid you are! When men are driven to extremities, surely his coming out among them--and he the cause of it all--was defiance enough. But a full account is in the paper I bought at the station; it is on the hall table, where you would have seen it if you could have kept your temper. Read it if you want to. It is not me you are disobeying when you do so. Remember, it was your father who did not want you to see the paper.” The day proved a long one to Edna Sartwell, and, when her father did not return at the usual hour, she became more and more anxious. Her step-mother said nothing about the delay, as the hours passed, but began to assume that air of patient resignation which became her so well. Dinner was served to the minute, and at the accustomed moment the table was cleared. Once or twice she chided Edna for her restlessness, and regretted she had to speak, but was compelled to do so because the good example she herself set was so palpably unappreciated. At last she said: “Edna, go to bed. I will wait up for your father.” “He is sure to be home soon. Please let me wait until he comes.” There was silence for a few minutes. “I don’t wish to ask you twice, Edna. You heard what I said.” “Please do not send me away until father comes. I am so anxious! Let me sit up instead of you. I can’t sleep if I do go to bed. Won’t you let me sit up in your place?” The martyred look came into the thin face of her step-mother--the look which told of trials uncomplainingly borne.’ “I have always sat up for your father, and always shall, so long as we are spared to each other. For the third time I ask you to go to bed.”