Just then Maria passed the window, dragging little Evelyn in her
white sledge. Ida rose with a motion of unusual quickness for her,
but Harry stopped her as she was about to leave the room.

"Don't go out, Ida," he said, with a peremptoriness which sat
strangely upon him.

Ida stared at him. "Why, why not?" she asked. "I wanted to take
Evelyn out. You know Josephine is not here."

"She is getting out all right with Maria's help; sit down, Ida," said
Harry, still with that tone of command which was so foreign to him.

Ida hesitated a second, then she sat down. She realized the grace and
policy of yielding in a minor point, when she had a large one in
view. Then, too, she was in reality rather vulnerable to a sudden
attack, for a moment, although she was always as a rule sure of
ultimate victory. She was at a loss, moreover, to comprehend Harry's
manner, which was easily enough understood. He wished to be the first
to ascertain Maria's sentiments with regard to going away to school.
Without admitting it even to himself, he distrusted his wife's
methods and entire frankness.

Presently Maria entered, leading little Evelyn, who was unusually
sturdy on her legs for her age. She walked quite steadily, with an
occasional little hop and skip of exuberant childhood.

She could talk a little, in disconnected sentences, with fascinating
mistakes in the sounds of letters, but she preferred a gurgle of
laughter when she was pleased, and a wail of woe when things went