These Marcia Selden had, but she had also traits of domination and determination and amazing powers of irritation.
Moreover, she always assumed herself in the right, and took on an injured expression if any one hinted otherwise.
Mother and daughter didn’t get on any too well, but they always found common cause in a grievance against Barham.
A little more harshness of character would have stood the man in good stead—but then, he wouldn’t have been Andrew Barham.
“Gentle, lovable—somewhat inconsequent old Drew,” as his friends called him, would do almost anything to avoid an unpleasantness; and his doing of almost anything made the opportunities for unpleasantnesses even more frequent.
Quite often he tried the soft answer, guaranteed to turn away wrath; sometimes he changed the subject; and sometimes he merely was silent.
This time he tried the last method, and Mrs. Selden took that up.
“Of course you have nothing to say! There is no answer, no excuse for a gratuitous rebuff. Come now—why do you mind Madeleine’s powdering her nose?”
“I daresay I’m a bit old-fashioned, mother, but I have a distaste for vanity-cases used at table. Oh, I know it’s done—and all that—but as Madeleine is doubtless at once going to her boudoir, it would seem unnecessary—oh, pshaw, I only said it in a joke, anyway.”
“A very poor joke, in my estimation,” and Mrs. Selden pursed her thin lips in utter and entire disapproval.
So Barham tried changing the subject.
“Whither away to-night, Madeleine? Or staying at home?”
He glanced at her elaborate house gown, thinking what
