Lord Stafford arrived in England some months later. He drove up to the house one Sunday morning an hour earlier than he was expected. Lady Canning and Indiana had not yet come home from church. After welcoming him, with tears of joy, Jennings tottered upstairs to tell Thurston. Lord Stafford went into the library and, with a sense of happiness to be again in his old surroundings, toasted himself once more before an English fire.
"Uncle Nelson!" exclaimed Thurston, rushing into the room.
"Thurston, my boy!"
Relinquishing his hand, Lord Stafford subjected his nephew to a critical survey.
"Well," said Thurston, laughing, "is the examination satisfactory?"
"You've changed—for the better," answered his uncle with a puzzled expression. "More vivacity. In fact, you've grown younger."
"I'll explain. I was an old bachelor. Now, I am a young married man." They both laughed heartily.
"So the international combination has panned out, as we say in the States?"
"Worked like a charm from the start," said Thurston.
"Remarkable. And with your mother?"
"Mother has completely succumbed to Indiana, and spoils her shockingly."
"I'm very glad of that, I'm sure. I've been homesick ever since I saw you off with your bride, but I was really afraid to come home until the new wife had fitted into the new conditions."
"You don't know my Indiana. Wait until you see how well she fits into the new conditions." They heard the sound of carriage-wheels. Thurston hurried to the window, his face lighting up. "Here they are—here's my wife!"
Lord Stafford met them at the door of the library. "My dear sister!" folding her in his arms.
"Nelson, I'm very glad to have you at home, you wanderer! You look marvellously well, and tanned by the sun. Have you seen our dear little daughter? Where are you, Indiana?" Thurston had drawn her to the fire and was taking off her gloves.
"Here, dear Lady Canning," said Indiana demurely, with a strong effort at an English accent. "How do you do, Uncle Nelson?" She offered her cheek, which he kissed, then surveyed her with great curiosity. She looked the personification of English maidenhood, dressed in a plain, gray gown, without any pretension to style of cut. A little bonnet, tied under her chin, rested on her yellow puffs. She stood there, very demure and quiet, still holding her prayer-book.
"And how do you find our sweet child looking, Nelson?" inquired Lady Canning, sinking into an arm-chair.
"By George, I should say I found her very much changed!"
"For the better, dear Uncle Nelson?" said Indiana, sweetly.
"When we transplant a flower," remarked Lady Canning, "we must watch it very carefully for a time, lest it wither in the process. Indiana is a most flexible little person. She appears to have taken root in our soil so easily. She had not been here a week when she was perfectly at home."
"Thanks to your good advice, Lady Canning. You have taken so much trouble with me."
"To be frank, Nelson, Indiana was a most agreeable surprise. When Thurston wrote me that he had selected a wife in the wilds of America, I felt ill with fright. I couldn't find out anything about the place, and the name suggested horrible visions of half-breeds and wild girls who climb trees and ride horses bareback."
"America is a very large country, dear Lady Canning," said Indiana. "There are tree-climbers and bareback riders in the uncivilized parts, I believe." Thurston turned away to conceal a laugh. "In fact, I myself must have appeared—er—strange to you at first, did I not, dear Lady Canning?"
"Oh, no! Only a little rasping quality in the voice, which has since greatly modified."
"That is our climate, dear Lady Canning. The sharp winds have a tendency to pitch our voices in a high key."
"And your gowns, dear, were a little too modern—too expensive for a young wife. You don't mind my saying it, Indiana?"
Indiana gave her an angelic smile. "I am so grateful to you. Lady Canning has given me the real English taste in the selection of a gown," parading before Lord Stafford, who, inserting his monocle, inspected her seriously. "Dowdy, isn't it?" she whispered, as Lady Canning bent over the fire, warming her hands. "I adore Irish poplins, Scotch plaids, English cheviots—and seed-cake. My first bonnet! Isn't it a love?" She tossed her head waggishly in Lord Stafford's face, so that a bunch of Prince-of-Wales feathers tickled his nose. "So unbecoming!" she added in his ear. Lady Canning turned, with an expression of smiling satisfaction.
"In my time, dear, as soon as a girl married, she wore a bonnet with strings. That's always the sign of a matron in England. You know there must be something to distinguish the married from the single woman."
"Yes, certainly, I approve of it," said Indiana. "Then there can be no fear of any mistakes being made by strangers." She heaved a deep sigh of conscious virtue. Lord Stafford dropped his monocle and fell into a chair, laughing unrestrainedly.
"You've caught on, Indiana! Ha, ha, ha, ha! As they say in the States—you've mashed them cold all 'round! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"
"Dear Nelson," said Lady Canning, severely, "what do you mean by such expressions? They appear to me very vulgar. Is it really American, Indiana?"
"Not at all, dear Lady Canning," said Indiana, reassuringly. "Those expressions you have just heard," she shivered slightly, "are mere barbarisms. They are used only by the natives of the uncultivated wastes."
"The natives. A sort of dialect, I suppose, my darling. Go and lay off your bonnet and smooth your hair."
Indiana pouted rebelliously at Thurston. "May I go?" Sweetly, "Thank you very much."
She kissed Lady Canning and walked demurely to the door.
"Remarkable!" murmured Lord Stafford.
"The child has perfect manners," commented Lady Canning, with a sigh of content, as Thurston followed Indiana from the room. "One would think she had been born and bred in England, thanks to my policy, from the very beginning. I don't allow her to call me mother—the child's too young. It's a better moral effect—and, with a little tender firmness, combined with just a spark of dignity that awes, I have accomplished wonders. I shudder to think what would have been the results if I had not been here. Thurston spoils her shockingly."
"Ah, does he? Very wrong of him, very unwise, I'm sure."
"Yes, is it not? But it's turned out very gratifyingly. You know how averse I've always been to Thurston marrying a modern woman—one of those editing magazines, forming clubs and racing women?" She shuddered. "When Thurston broke it to me, I was very doubtful of the results—very. But his heart carried him away. I don't wonder at it. She's so bright, so clever, so amusing, so lovable. She must have come from very fine stock."
"Very," answered Lord Stafford, seriously. "You should see Grandma Chazy Bunker. She 'beats the band'—as they say in the States." He regarded the ceiling with an expression of delightful reminiscence, which broadened gradually into a laugh. He rose suddenly and approached his sister. "Helena, I am going to let you into a little secret." He looked around mysteriously, then added, in a loud whisper, "Indiana's people are in London. They came over with me from America."
"Who?"
"Her father, mother, and grandmother, and, as they say in the States"—Lady Canning braced herself from the shock which inevitably followed this remark—"'they're going to make Indiana's hair curl!'"
"Speak English, if you please."
"They're going to give her a surprise party."
Lady Canning looked at him incredulously. "Do you mean to say they're going to drop down on that poor child without sending her word?"
"You can bet your sweet life on it! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!" He sank into an arm-chair, overcome with mirth. The entire affair was a huge joke to him, irrespective of the fact that his sister failed to perceive the humor of his communication.
"What an undignified proceeding!" said Lady Canning, in shocked tones. "Her grandmother, too!" Lord Stafford went off into another paroxysm of mirth. "Why, the highest respect is due to their age in the way of preparation."
"In America there's nothing gives so much pleasure as springing things on a person. The surprise party is a national institution."
Lady Canning rose to her feet, perceptibly agitated. "My dear brother, think of the shock to Indiana. It might be serious."
"'She won't turn a hair'—as we say in the States. She's a thoroughbred! Ha, ha, ha, ha!"
"I'm very glad you told me. I must go and make some kind of a toilette to receive them, and the housekeeper must be apprised."
"My dear sister, 'don't put yourself out'—as we say in the States."
"Poor Indiana! Most unheard-of proceedings!"
During dinner Indiana plied Lord Stafford with questions about her family, all of which he answered seriously, with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. Lady Canning regarded her unconscious face with growing sympathy. She went to her rooms immediately after dinner. "I shall not make my appearance," she thought, "until all the excitement is over. I am upset enough as it is. I can scarcely look at that poor child—I feel so badly for her."
Indiana, entering the library demurely, and seeing that Thurston and Lord Stafford were alone, rushed toward them with a shrill little cry. She laughed as they both started to their feet.
"I'm only giving vent to my repressed exuberance. I can be natural with Uncle Nelson, can't I, Thurston?"
"Why not be natural with my mother? It pains me to see you playing a part with her. She's not such a dreadful person."
Indiana smiled comically at Lord Stafford, sinking down upon the hearth-rug at his feet. "The ingratitude of men! He asked me to make his mother love him, and to succeed it was necessary to adapt myself to her ways. If I had argued with her, he would have disagreed so radically it would have been impossible to live under the same roof. I know that it is a necessity at present, so I agree with her in everything. Consequently, I'm the best, the most lovable girl in the world. All the same, I own her, body and soul—that's my method of subjugation. Of course, he's not satisfied. Nothing I do pleases him."
"Indiana!"
"Uncle Nelson, I'm frightfully good," continued Indiana, ignoring Thurston, whose eyes were fastened upon her in mute and tender reproach. "I've never been so good in my life"—she clasped her hands, raising her eyes to the ceiling—"I feel like an angel—so sweet, so obedient, so ordinary. Thurston doesn't appreciate it. He doesn't love me as much as he did before we were married."
"Indiana!" exclaimed Thurston, seriously, "how can you say that?"
"I thought he was a gentleman of leisure, and he works harder than a farm hand. He sits up half the night, reading and studying. If I had known he was such a great scholar I wouldn't have married him."
"Indiana, do you mean that?"
"No,"—serious face—"I was only joking. Uncle Nelson, do you think he will ever be a great man?"
Lord Stafford glanced amusedly at Thurston. "I hope so."
"Oh, as great as Thomas Carlyle? Don't say yes, because I'll run away. You know what Jane Carlyle said about the wives of men of genius? They're more miserable even—than—than doctors' wives. Thurston has symptoms. He sits up all night and writes like Carlyle. Between times the old crank used to go out in the back yard, and sit on the fence and smoke a pipe—in his night-shirt. That's the next thing I'll get."
The two men laughed heartily. "You little witch," exclaimed Thurston, catching her up in his arms and kissing her, "you are simply irresistible!"
"Now, I'll give you an imitation of a chipmunk," cried Indiana, in high spirits, jumping up on a lounge, and imitating to perfection a chipmunk sitting on its haunches and nibbling a nut. Lord Stafford applauded, while Thurston watched the door, his mind divided between admiration for his little wife's clever imitation, and fear that his mother might enter during the performance.
"Do you remember the night we all went on a moonlight picnic to the Falls—and Glen was so jealous—poor Glen!—and we sang 'On the Banks of the Wabash'?—
'Oh, the moonlight's fair to-night along the Wabash, From the field there comes the breath of new-mown hay, Through the sycamores the candle-lights are gleaming, On the banks of the Wabash, far away.'"
Her voice quivered and she sank upon the ground, sobbing like a child, with her head against the table.
Thurston made one quick step toward her and gathered her up in his arms. "My darling, don't cry! You break my heart." He pressed her to his breast, smoothing her hair mechanically. A hopeless expression had settled in his eyes. Lord Stafford looked at them miserably, then considered the best thing to do, under the circumstances, was to make his escape in the quietest manner possible.
Thurston sank into a chair, holding his wife closely to his heart. "I know you're homesick—unhappy," he whispered. "I feel it, and I'm helpless against it. What can I do?"
"Nothing of the kind," she said, lifting her head suddenly. "There—I frightened Uncle Nelson away!" She slipped from his arms to the floor. "I'm not homesick. I mean—not all the time." She gave a piteous little gulp. "That song upset me, and I had a terrible longing just to get a look at dad and mother and Grandma Chazy, and then pack them all home again." Thurston heaved a sigh from his heart. "I wish you wouldn't take me so seriously, Thurston," she continued, in an aggrieved voice. "Don't watch every quiver of my eyes, and think it's a tragedy. Discipline's a very good thing for me—I like it. But I wish you wouldn't believe every word I say. It's aggravating enough when your mother does it."
"I'll try not to. But I want to follow your thoughts—I want to be one with my wife." He drew her to him, gazing with yearning tenderness into her eyes. "It's difficult to—to adjust my slow emotions to your rapidly changing ones. You force my sympathy—and repel it—in a breath. Your moods change with the minutes. But all that wouldn't matter if I were sure you were learning to love me—to give only a little, in return for my deep affection. That would set my heart at rest and smooth away all difficulties." He looked beseechingly into her eyes. But she silently evaded his glance. Her face had grown suddenly very serious. "Indiana!"
"I—I was thinking—perhaps it was wrong to marry you—but I did not love anybody else—and I will try."
"Indiana, if you knew how your words stab me. You have a terrible capacity for torturing."
"Now you're sorry you married me."
"Sorry!" he repeated, intensely. "I'd give up my life sooner than you—I try to control my love, but I can't keep it always smothered. I don't want to frighten you, child—for you are only a child yet—but I shall keep my word when I said I will make you love me." He pressed her passionately in his arms. "Indiana!"
"Thurston!" she murmured, for the moment yielding to his embrace.
A discreet cough sounded in the room. Thurston released his wife instantly. Jennings came toward them, holding a salver out with a hand which shook more than usual. There was also a certain rigidity in his face, from the effort to conceal emotion of some kind. Thurston took the card from the salver, with a vague impression that there was something strange in Jennings' behavior. Then his own expression changed into incredulous surprise. He read, with a rising inflection of the voice which ended in a shout:
"Mr. and Mrs. Stillwater—Mrs. Chazy Bunker, Indiana, U.S.A."