Carl longed to stand up, to defy them all, to cry: "If you mean that you think Ruth has to be protected against me, have the decency to say so." Yet he kept his voice gentle: "But why be narrowed to just a few families in one's interests? Now this settlement----" "One isn't narrowed. There are plenty of _good_ families for Ruth to consider when it comes time for my little girl to consider alliances at all!" Aunt Emma coldly stated. "I _will_ shut up!" he told himself. "I will shut up. I'll see this dinner through, and then never come near this house again." He tried to look casual, as though the conversation was safely finished. But Aunt Emma was waiting for him to go on. In the general stillness her corsets creaked with belligerent attention. He played with his fork in a "Well, if that's how you feel about it, perhaps it would be better not to discuss it any further, my dear madam," manner, growing every second more flushed, embarrassed, sick, angry; trying harder every second to look unconcerned. Aunt Emma hawked a delicate and ladylike hawk in her patrician throat, prefatory to a new attack. Carl knew he would be tempted to retort brutally. Then from the door of the dining-room whimpered the high voice of an excited child: "Oh, mamma, oh, Cousin Ruthie, nurse says Hawk Ericson is here! I want to see him!" Every one turned toward a boy of five or six, round as a baby chicken, in his fuzzy miniature pajamas, protectingly holding a cotton monkey under his arm, sturdy and shy and defiant. "Why, Arthur!" "Why, my son!" "Oh, the darling baby!" from the table. "Come here, Arthur, and let's hear your troubles before nurse nabs you, old son," said Phil, not at all condescendingly, rising from the table, holding out his arms. "No, no! You just let me go! I want to see Hawk Ericson. Is that Hawk Ericson?" demanded the son of Aunt Emma, pointing at Carl. "Yes, sweetheart," said Ruth, softly, proudly. Running madly about the end of the table, Arthur jumped at Carl's lap. Carl swung him up and inquired, "What is it, old man?" "Are you Hawk Ericson?" "At your commands, cap'n." Aunt Emma rose and said, masterfully, "Come, little son, now you've seen Mr. Ericson it's up to beddie again, up--to--beddie." "No, no; please no, mamma! I've never seen a' aviator before, not in all my life, and you promised me 'cross your heart, at Pasadena you did, I could see one." Arthur's face showed signs of imminent badness. "Well, you may stay for a while, then," said Aunt Emma, weakly, unconscious that her sway had departed from her, while the rest of the table grinned, except Carl, who was absorbed in Arthur's ecstasy.