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 up this new idea in his mind. But it seemed to promise nothing.

“She would scarcely attend a party where she knew no one, merely to make arrangements for a portrait,” he said, as if thinking aloud.

“Do not presume to say what my daughter would or would not do, sir. That is outside your province. Remain within your own rightful boundaries of thought and speech.”

Hutchins looked at her. He had never been treated quite like this before. And, apparently, Andrew Barham didn’t dare call his soul his own, even in his own home.

But Barham was by no means afraid of his mother-in-law. His hesitancy to rouse her temper was partly because he so hated the scenes she made and partly because he really felt a tenderness for the mother of his wife.

Still, he couldn’t quite allow this. So he said:

“Please, Mother, try to remember that Mr. Hutchins represents the dignity of the law, and so, even aside from his own merits, commands our respect and courtesy.”

Marcia Selden took him up.

“Andrew!” she exclaimed, “will you never cease scolding me? You omit no chance to reprimand me, to hold me up to the scorn of others. Shouldn’t you think, Mr. Hutchins, that a man would be a little kindly inclined to one who is the mother of his wife? But, no, all Mr. Barham ever says to me is by way of fault finding and reproach!”

The black handkerchief was pressed against the tearful eyes, and Hutchins, not feeling privileged to side with either, said nothing.

Barham repressed an angry impulse, and said, with a kind but long-suffering air:

“Not quite that, Mother. I never forget our relationship”