He made a gesture, indicating that this was not the time to discuss the economic situation, and Adelaide went smoothly on: 

“And now, Mrs. Wayne, the point is this.  I am considered harsh because I insist that a young man without an income who has just come near to running off with my child on money that was almost a bribe is not a person in whom I have unlimited confidence.  I ask—­it seems a tolerably mild request—­that they do not see each other for six months.”

“I cannot agree to that,” said Wayne decidedly.

“Really, Mr. Wayne, do you feel yourself in a position to agree or disagree?  We have never consented to your engagement.  We have never thought the marriage a suitable one, have we, Papa?”

“No,” said Mr. Lanley in a tone strangely dead.

“Why is it not suitable?” asked Mrs. Wayne, as if she really hoped that an agreement might be reached by rational discussion.

“Why?” said Adelaide, and smiled.  “Dear Mrs. Wayne, these things are rather difficult to explain.  Wouldn’t it be easier for all of us if you would just accept the statement that we think so without trying to decide whether we are right or wrong?”

“I’m afraid it must be discussed,” answered Mrs. Wayne.

Adelaide leaned back, still with her faint smile, as if defying, though very politely, any one to discuss it with her.

It was inevitable that Mrs. Wayne should turn to Mr. Lanley.

“You, too, think it unsuitable?”

He bowed gravely.

“You dislike my son?”

“Quite the contrary.”

“Then you must be able to tell me the reason.”

“I will try,” he said.  He felt like a soldier called upon to defend a lost cause.  It was his cause, he couldn’t desert it.  His daughter and his granddaughter needed his protection; but he knew he was giving up something that he valued more than his life as he began to speak.  “We feel the difference in background,” he said, “of early traditions, of judging life from the same point of view.  Such differences can be overcome by time and money—­” He stopped, for she was looking at him with the same wondering interest, devoid of anger, with which he had seen her study Wilsey.  “I express myself badly,” he murmured.

Mrs. Wayne rose to her feet.

“The trouble isn’t with your expression,” she said.

“You mean that what I am trying to express is wrong?”

“It seems so to me.”

“What is wrong about it?”

She seemed to think over the possibilities for an instant, and then she shook her head.

“I don’t think I could make you understand,” she answered.  She said it very gently, but it was cruel, and he turned white under the pain, suffering all the more that she was so entirely without malice.  She turned to her son.  “I’m going, Pete.  Don’t you think you might as well come, too?”

Mathilde sprang up and caught Mrs. Wayne’s hand.