“Of course I do,” she replied.

“Well, you keep asking him why he doesn’t go away, and I began to think you didn’t,” said Henry.

“I want him to stay,” said Sylvia, “but I don’t want any foolishness.”

“Foolishness?” said Henry, vaguely.

It was a very hot afternoon, but in spite of the heat Rose and Horace were afield.  They had been gone ever since dinner.  It was Saturday, and Henry had come home early from the shop.  The first question he asked had been concerning the whereabouts of the young people.  “Off together somewhere,” Sylvia had replied.  Then the conversation had ensued.

“Yes, foolishness,” repeated Sylvia, with a sort of hysterical violence.  She sat out on the front porch with some mending, and she sewed feverishly as she spoke.

“I don’t know what you mean by foolishness, I guess, Sylvia.”

Henry sat on the porch step.  He wore a black mohair coat, and his thin hair was well brushed.

“It does seem,” said Sylvia, “as if a young man and a young woman might live in the same house and behave themselves.”

Henry stared at her.  “Why, Sylvia, you don’t mean—­”

“I mean just what I said—­behave themselves.  It does seem sometimes as if everything any girl or young man thought of was falling in love and getting married,” Sylvia said—­“falling in love and getting married,” with a bitter and satirical emphasis.

“I don’t see,” said Henry, “that there is very much against Mr. Allen and Rose’s falling in love and getting married.  I think he might do worse, and I think she might.  Sometimes I’ve looked at the two of them and wondered if they weren’t just made for each other.  I can’t see quite what you mean, Sylvia?  You don’t mean to say that you don’t want Mr. Allen ever to get married?”

“He can marry whoever he wants to,” said Sylvia, “but he sha’n’t marry her.”

“You don’t mean you don’t want her ever to get married?”

“Yes, I do mean just that.”

“Why, Sylvia, are you crazy?”

“No, I ain’t crazy,” replied Sylvia, doggedly.  “I don’t want her to get married, and I’m in the right of it.  She’s no call to get married.”

“I don’t see why she ’ain’t got a call as well as other girls.”

“She ’ain’t.  Here she’s got a good home, and everything she needs, and more, too.  She’s got money of her own that she had when she come here, plenty of it.  I’m going over to Alford to-morrow and see if I can’t find some things in the stores there for her that I think she’ll like.  And I’m going to get Jim Jones—­he’s a good hand—­to see if he can’t get a good, safe horse and pretty carriage for her, so she can ride out.”

Henry stared.  “I dunno as I can take care of a horse, Sylvia,” he said, doubtfully.

“Nobody wants you to.  I can get Billy Hudson to come.  He can sleep in the chamber over the kitchen.  I spoke to his mother about it, and she’s tickled to pieces.  She says he’s real handy with horses, and he’ll come for fifteen dollars a month and his board.  Rose is going to have everything she wants.”