“I have insisted upon that,” said Mrs. Foote.  “I will not tolerate such an affair.”

“There is no affair,” said Bonbright, finding his voice.  His young eyes began to glow angrily.  “What right have you to suppose such a thing-just because Miss Frazer happens to be a stenographer and because her mother keeps a boarder!  Father insulted her yesterday.  That caused the trouble.  I couldn’t let it pass, even from him.  I can’t let it pass from you, mother.”

“Oh, undoubtedly she’s worthy enough,” said Mr. Foote, who had exchanged a glance with his wife during Bonbright’s outburst, as much as to say, “There is a serious danger here.”

“Worthy enough!” said Bonbright, anger now burning with white heat.

“But,” said his father, “worthy or not worthy, we cannot have our son’s name linked in any way with a person of her class.  It must stop, and stop at once.”

“That you must understand distinctly,” said Mrs. Foote.

“Stop!” said Bonbright, hoarsely.  “It sha’n’t stop, now or ever.  That’s what I came home to tell you. ...  I’m not a dumb beast, to be driven where you want to drive me.  I’m a human being.  I have a right to make my own friends and to live my own life. ...  I have a right to love where I want to—­and to marry the girl I love. ...  You tried to pick out a wife for me. ...  Well, I’ve picked out my own.  Whether you approve or not doesn’t change it.  Nobody, nothing can change it. ...  I love Ruth Frazer and I’m going to marry her.  That’s what I came home to tell you.”

“What?” said his father, in a tone of one who listens to blasphemy.

Bonbright did not waver.  He was strong enough now, strong in his anger and in his love.  “I am going to marry Ruth Frazer,” he repeated.

“Nonsense!” said his mother.

“It is not nonsense, mother.  I am a man.  I have found the girl I love and will always love.  I intend to marry her.  Where is there nonsense in that?”

“Do you fancy I shall permit such a thing?  Do you imagine for an instant that I shall permit you to give me a daughter-in-law out of a cheap boarding house?  Do you think I shall submit to an affront like that? ...  Why, I should be the laughingstock of the city.”

“The city finds queer things to laugh at,” said Bonbright.

“My son—­” began Mr. Foote; but his wife silenced him.  She had taken command of the family ship.  From this moment in this matter Bonbright Foote VI did not figure.  This was her affair.  It touched her in a vital spot.  It threatened her with ridicule; it threatened to affect that most precious of her possessions—­the deference of the social world.  She knew how to protect herself, and would attend to the matter without assistance.

“You will never see that girl again,” she said, as though the saying of it concluded the episode.

Bonbright was silent.

“You will promise me now that this disgraceful business is ended.  Now. ...  I am waiting.”