“And he don’t go with her much, you say,” she continued, feeling more aggrieved than ever when she heard that on the occasion of Ethie’s personating Hortense, Richard had also appeared as a knight of the sixteenth century, and borne his part so well that Ethelyn herself did not recognize him until the mask was removed.

Mrs. Markham could not suffer such high-handed wickedness to go unrebuked, and taking as a peace offering, in case matters assumed a serious aspect, a pot of gooseberry jam and a ball of head cheese, she started for Camden the very next day.

Ethelyn did not expect her, but she received her kindly, and knowing how she hated a public table, had dinner served in her own room, and then, without showing the least impatience, waited a full hour for Richard to come in from the court-house, where an important suit was pending.  Mrs. Markham was to return to Olney that night, and as there was no time to lose, she brought the conversation round to the “stories” she had heard, and little by little laid on the lash till Ethelyn’s temper was roused, and she asked her mother-in-law to say out what she had to say at once, and not skirt round it so long.  Then came the whole list of misdemeanors which Mrs. Markham thought “perfectly ridiculous,” asking her son how he “could put up with such work.”

Richard wisely forbore taking either side; nor was it necessary that he should speak for Ethie.  She was fully competent to fight her own battle, and she fought it with a will, telling her mother-in-law that she should attend as many parties as she pleased and wear as many masks.  She did not give up her liberty of action when she married.  She was young yet, and should enjoy herself if she chose, and in her own way.

This was all the satisfaction Mrs. Markham could get, and supremely pitying “her poor boy,” whom she mentally decided was “henpecked,” she took the cars back to Olney, saying to Richard, who accompanied her to the train, “I am sorry for you from the bottom of my heart.  It would be better if you had stayed with me.”

Richard liked his mother’s good opinion, but as he walked back to the hotel he could not help feeling that a mother’s interference between man and wife was never very discreet, and he wished the good woman had stayed at home.  If he had said so to Ethelyn, when on his return to his rooms he found her weeping passionately, there might have come a better understanding between them, and she probably would have stayed with him that evening instead of attending the whist party given by Mrs. Miller.  But he had fully determined to keep silent, and when Ethelyn asked if she was often to be subjected to such insults, he did not reply.  He went with her, however, to Mrs. Miller’s, and knowing nothing of cards, almost fell asleep while waiting for her, and playing backgammon with another fellow-sufferer, who had married a young wife and was there on duty.