better, maybe, for me who
have to tell the story, and for you who have to read it. But disdainful
she never was, and she did not remain cold. The enthusiasm of her lover
was contagious, and she came to write and talk to him with much
earnestness. Next to her own comfort and peace of mind and her own
culture, she prized her lover. He was original, piquant, and talented.
She was proud of him, and loved him with all her heart. Not as a more
earnest person might have loved; but as heartily as she could. And she
came to take on the color of her lover's habits of thought and feeling;
she expressed herself even more warmly than she felt, so that Albert was
happy, and this story was doomed to suffer because of his happiness. I
might give zest to this dull love-affair by telling you that Mr. Minorkey
opposed the match. Next to a disdainful lady-love, the best thing for a
writer and a reader is a furious father. But I must be truthful at all
hazards, and I am obliged to say that while Mr. Minorkey would have been
delighted to have had for son-in-law some man whose investments might
have multiplied Helen's inheritance, he was yet so completely under the
influence of his admired daughter that he gave a consent, tacitly at
least, to anything she chose to do. So that Helen became recognized
presently as the prospective Mrs. Charlton. Mrs. Plausaby liked her
because she wore nice dresses, and Katy loved her because she loved
Brother Albert. For that matter, Katy did not need any reason for loving
anybody. Even Isa stifled a feeling she was unable to understand, and
declared that Miss Minorkey was smart, and just suited to Albert; and she
supposed that Albert, with all his crotchets and theories, might make a
person like Miss Minorkey happy. It wasn't every woman that could put up
with them, you know.

But it was not about the prosperous but uninteresting courtship of two
people with "idees" that I set out to tell in this chapter. If Charlton
got on smoothly with Helen Minorkey, and if he had no more serious and
one-sided outbreaks with his step-father, he did not get on with his
sister's lover.

Westcott had been drinking all of one night with some old cronies of the
Elysian Club, and his merry time of the night was subsiding into a
quarrelsome time in the morning. He was able, when he was sober, to
smother his resentment towards Albert, for there is no better ambush than
an entirely idiotic giggle. But drink had destroyed his pruden