The boy's flush deepened. "Yes," he said, still more quietly, "we seemed
to misunderstand--and antagonize each other."

"Even to-day?"--Then as Austin did not answer, "Now, tell me
truthfully--whose fault is it?"

"The first time it was mine," said Austin quickly. "She made me clean up
the yard--it needed it, too!--and I was furious! And I was rude--worse
than rude--to her for a long time. But since then--"

"You needn't be afraid to say it was hers," remarked Sylvia's uncle
dryly. "She wants an absolutely free hand, which isn't good for her to
have--she's only twenty-two now, pretty as a picture, and still
absolutely inexperienced about many things. She can't bear the thought of
dictation, and you're both young and self-willed and proud, and very much
in love--which makes the whole thing harder, and not easier, as I suppose
you imagine. Now, some women, even in these days, aren't fit to live with
until--figuratively speaking--they've been beaten over the head with a
club. Sylvia's not that kind. She's not only got to respect her husband's
wishes, she's got to _want_ to--and I believe you can make her want to! I
think you're absolutely just--and unusually decent. If I didn't I
shouldn't dare say all this to you--or let you have her at all, if I
could help it. And besides being fair, you know how to express
yourself--which some poor fellows unfortunately can't do--they're
absolutely tongue-tied. In fact, you're perfectly capable of taking
things into your own hands every way, and making a success of it--and if
you don't before you're married, neither of you can possibly hope to be
happy afterwards."