“Where’s Rachel? What made you come that
way? Everybody saw you!”
“It makes no difference. They will all have to know, anyway. Rachel says she is going to be married from her father’s house, or not at all. I’ve come back to tell you so.”
Isabella’s face turned crimson.
“Rachel has gone crazy. I wash my hands of this affair. Do as you please. Take the guests — the supper, too, if you can carry it.”
“We'll all come back here for supper,” said Frank, ignoring the sarcasm. “Come, Mrs. Spencer, let’s make the best of it.”
“Do you suppose that I am going to David Spencer’s house?” said Isabella Spencer violently.
“Oh you must come, Mrs. Spencer,” cried poor Frank desperately. He began to fear that he would lose his bride past all finding in this maze of triple stubbornness. “Rachel says she won’t be married at all if you don’t go, too. Think what a talk it will make. You know she will keep her word.”
Isabella Spencer knew it. Amid all the conflict of anger and revolt in her soul was a strong desire not to make a worse scandal than must of necessity be made. The desire subdued and tamed her, as nothing else could have done.
“I will go, since I have to,” she said icily.
