It was not long before the most of Houghtonsville--in sentiment, if not in words--came to old Nathan's opinion: this prospective marriage was an ideal arrangement, after all, and not in the least surprising. There remained now only the pleasant task of making the wedding a joyful affair befitting the traditions of the town and of the honored name of Kendall. In all Houghtonsville, perhaps, there was only one heart that did not beat in sympathy, and that one, strangely enough, belonged to Mrs. Kendall's own daughter, Margaret. "You mean you are goin' to marry him, and that he'll be your husband for--for keeps?" Margaret demanded with some agitation, when her mother told her of the engagement. Mrs. Kendall smiled. The red mounted to her cheek. "Yes, dear," she said. "And he'll live here--with us?" Margaret's voice was growing in horror. "Why, yes, dear," murmured Mrs. Kendall; then, quizzically: "Why, sweetheart, what's the matter? Don't you like Dr. Spencer? It was only last week that you were begging me to ask some one here to live with us." Margaret frowned anxiously. "But, mother, dear, that was poor folks," she explained, her eyes troubled. "Dr. Spencer ain't that kind, you know. You--you said he'd be a husband." "Yes?" "And--and husbands--mother!" broke off the little girl, her voice sharp with anguished love and terror. "He sha'n't come here to beat you and bang you 'round--he just sha'n't!" "Beat me!" gasped Mrs. Kendall. "Margaret, what in the world are you thinking of to say such a thing as that?" Margaret was almost crying now. The old hunted look had come back to her eyes, and her face looked suddenly pinched and old. She came close to her mother's side and caught the soft folds of her mother's dress in cold, shaking fingers. "But they do do it--all of 'em," she warned frenziedly. "Tim Sullivan, an' Mr. Whalen, an' Patty's father--they was all husbands, every one of 'em; and there wasn't one of 'em but what beat their wives and banged 'em 'round. You don't know. You hain't seen 'em, maybe; but they do do it, mother--they do do it!" For a moment Mrs. Kendall stared speechlessly into the young-old face before her; then she caught the little girl in her arms. "You poor little dear!" she choked. "You poor forlorn little bunch of misguided pessimism! Come, let me tell you how really good and kind and gentle the doctor is. Beat me, indeed! Oh, Margaret, Margaret!" CHAPTER IV