Her strength had that subtlety which acknowledges its limitations and its closed doors, and can look about for other means and ways.

Therefore, when Harry came down-stairs that Sunday afternoon, his face working with emotion but his eyes filled with a steady light, and said, with no preface, "It's no use talking, Ida, that child does not want to go, and she shall never be driven from under my roof, while I live," Ida only smiled, and replied, "Very well, dear, I only meant it for her good." "She is not going," Harry said doggedly.
Harry resumed his seat with a gesture of defiance which was absurd, from its utter lack of any response from his wife.

It was like tilting with a windmill.
Ida continued to sway gently back and forth, and smile.
"I think if the Adamses do come in to-night we will have a little salad, there will be enough left from the chicken, and some cake and tea," she observed presently.

"We won't have the table set, because both the maids have asked to go out, but Maria can put on my India muslin apron and pass the things.

I will have the salad made before they go, and I will make the tea.