Morton Bassett found Sylvia tutoring his son one day when he arrived at Waupegan unexpectedly.  Mrs. Bassett explained the arrangement privately in her own fashion.

“You seem to take no interest in your children, Morton.  I thought Blackford was your particular pride, but the fact that he was practically expelled from school seemed to make not the slightest impression on you.  I thought that until you did realize that the boy was wasting his time here, I’d take matters into my own hands.  Miss Garrison seems perfectly competent; she tells me Blackford is very quick—­all he needs is application.”

“I hadn’t got around to that yet, Hallie.  I’d intended taking it up this week.  I’m very busy,” murmured Bassett.

His wife’s choice of a tutor seemed inconsistent with her earlier animosity toward Sylvia, but he shrank from asking explanations.  Mrs. Bassett had grown increasingly difficult and arbitrary.

“That’s the American father all over!  Well, I’ve done my duty.”

“No doubt it’s a good arrangement.  We’ve got to keep Blackford in hand.  Where’s Marian?”

“She’s visiting the Willings at their place at Whitewater.  She’s been gone a week.”

“The Willings?  Not those Burton Willings?  How did that happen;—­I don’t believe we care to have her visit the Willings.”

“They are perfectly nice people,” she replied defensively, “and Marian knew their daughter at school.  Allen Thatcher is in the party, and they’re all people we know or know about.”

“Well, I don’t want Marian visiting around promiscuously.  I know nothing about the family, but I don’t care for Willing.  And we’ve had enough of young Thatcher.  Marian’s already seen too much of him.”

“Allen’s a perfectly nice fellow.  It isn’t fair to dislike him on his father’s account.  Allen isn’t a bit like his father; but even if he were you used to think well enough of Ed Thatcher.”

This shot was well aimed, and Bassett blinked, but he felt that he must exercise his parental authority.  If he had been culpable in neglecting Blackford he could still take a hand in Marian’s affairs.

“So I did,” he replied.  “But I’m going to telegraph Marian to come home.  What’s the Willings’ address?”

“Oh, you’ll find it on a picture postal card somewhere about.  I’ll write Marian to come home; but I wouldn’t telegraph if I were you, Morton.  And if you don’t like my employing Miss Garrison, you can get rid of her:  I merely felt that something had to be done.  I turn it all over to you,” she ended mournfully.

“Oh, I have no objections to Miss Garrison.  We’ll see how Blackford gets on with her.”