wrinkling a nose of charming pugnacity. The face of the culprit was tense and rather piteous, but Jack's glance at it was perfectly remorseless.
"I knew she would," he groaned.
"Knew she would what?" demanded Mrs. Wren.
"Let Uncle Albert down her," was the prompt rejoinder.
"That didn't want much guessing," said Milly bitterly.
"Bridport-House-itis! That's her trouble," said Mrs. Wren. "And she seems to have quite a bad form of the disease. I can't understand such a girl, I can't really. To me she's unnatural. If I found people 'coming the heavy' over me, I should just set my back to the wall and say, 'Very well, my fine friends, I'm now going to let you see that Jane Wren is every bit as good as you are.'"
"So would any other reasonable being." And that unpremeditated speech of the Tenderfoot's would have made Mrs. Wren his friend for life, had she not become so already.
"That's what I call sensible," said she. "And there's only one thing for you to do now, young man, and that is to take her straight away and marry her."
At this point Mary got up from her sofa. But Mrs. Wren held one great advantage; she had her back to the door. "You don't leave this room, my fine lady"—again "the old Sadler's Wells touch," and Jack and Milly could not deny that it was rather superb—"until you realize that we all think alike in this matter."
"Quite so," said the Tenderfoot, immensely stimulated by this powerful backing. "Let us try to see the thing as it is. This isn't a case for high falutin' sentiment.
