"Mrs. Percivale, do you accept this as a correct representation of your difference?" "Well," I answered, hesitating--"yes, on the whole. All I object to is the word _dignity_." "I retract it," cried Roger, "and accept any substitute you prefer." "Let it stand," I returned. "It will do as well as a better. I only wish to say that it was not exactly my dignity"-- "No, no; your sense of propriety," said my husband; and then sat silent for a minute or two, pondering like a judge. At length he spoke:-- "Wife," he said, "you might have gone with your brother, I think; but I quite understand your disinclination. At the same time, a more generous judgment of Miss Clare might have prevented any difference of feeling in the matter." "But," I said, greatly inclined to cry, "I only postponed my judgment concerning her." And I only postponed my crying, for I was very much ashamed of myself. CHAPTER XVII. MISS CLARE. Of course my husband and I talked a good deal more about what I ought to have done; and I saw clearly enough that I ought to have run any risk there might be in accepting her invitation. I had been foolishly taking more care of myself than was necessary. I told him I would write to Roger, and ask him when he could take me there again. "I will tell you a better plan," he said. "I will go with you myself. And that will get rid of half the awkwardness there would be if you went with Roger, after having with him refused to go in." "But would that be fair to Roger? She would think I didn't like going with him, and I would go with Roger anywhere. It was I who did not want to go. He did." "My plan, however, will pave the way for a full explanation--or confession rather, I suppose it will turn out to be. I know you are burning to make it, with your mania for confessing your faults." I knew he did not like me the worse for that _mania_, though. "The next time," he added, "you can go with Roger, always supposing you should feel inclined to continue the acquaintance, and then you will be able to set him right in her eyes." The plan seemed unobjectionable. But just then Percivale was very busy; and I being almost as much occupied with my baby as he was with his, day after day and week after week passed, during which our duty to Miss Clare was, I will not say either forgotten or neglected, but unfulfilled. One afternoon I was surprised by a visit from my father. He not unfrequently surprised us. "Why didn't you let us know, papa?" I said. "A surprise is very nice; but an expectation is much nicer, and lasts so much longer." "I might have disappointed you." "Even if you had, I should have already enjoyed the expectation. That would be safe." "There's a good deal to be said in excuse of surprises," he rejoined; "but in the present case, I have a special one to offer. I was taken with a sudden desire to see you. It was very foolish no doubt, and you are quite right in wishing I weren't here, only going to come to-morrow."