IV + 

“The older I grow, Papa,” said Jane very seriously, “the more I admire your technique as a parent.” + 

“That’s very flattering of you, kid,” said Mr. Ward with a twinkle. + 

“Why, Isabel and I never gave you and Mamma any trouble,” Jane went on, still very seriously. + 

“Oh, I don’t know about that, kid,” interrupted Mr. Ward. “You went to Bryn Mawr over your mother’s dead body⁠—” + 

“Oh⁠—Bryn Mawr!” threw in Jane contemptuously. + 

“It seemed very important at the time,” said Mr. Ward. “She thought it would damn you to eternal spinsterhood. And before that you had embarked at the age of seventeen on a clandestine engagement⁠—” + 

“It wasn’t clandestine!” protested Jane. “We told you right away!” + 

“Yes, you did,” admitted Mr. Ward, with his indulgent twinkle. “You were very good children. Still⁠—it was a bit disquieting⁠—” + 

They were sitting side by side on the old brown velvet sofa in the Pine Street library. The brilliant June sunshine was pouring in the west window, striking the glass bookcase doors and making them look a little dusty, just as it always had from time immemorial. The firelight was dancing on the shiny surfaces of polished walnut, here and there in the darker corners, and shining on the big brass humidor on the desk that held Mr. Ward’s cigars. Mr. Ward always had a fire, now, even in summer. The room was hotter than it used to be and the big branching rubber tree in the west window was gone. Otherwise everything about the Pine Street library was completely unchanged. + 

Everything, that is, but Mr. Ward himself. Jane, looking tenderly across the sofa at her father, was suddenly conscious of how old and frail he seemed. Isabel was right. The war had aged him. Or perhaps it was his retirement from business that had taken place two years before. Mr. Ward lived, now, in his little brown library. When Jane dropped in, she always found him there, settled comfortably in his leather armchair, reading biographies, or poring over the war news, or perhaps just smoking, reflectively, a solitary cigar. + 

The room was really very warm. Jane looked at the smouldering fire. Her glance, wandering casually over the familiar mantelshelf, met the Bard of Avon’s wise mahogany eye. The Bard of Avon always made her think of her wedding ceremony. + 

“Papa,” said Jane, “how can you tell, how can you possibly tell, just whom your children ought to marry?” + 

“You can’t,” said Mr. Ward promptly. “But you can make a pretty good guess at whom they ought not to.” + 

“But how can you stop them?” said Jane. + 

“I don’t know,” said Mr. Ward very seriously after a little pause. + 

“You stopped me,” said Jane. “You stopped me because you made me feel, somehow or other, though I didn’t agree with you, that you were inevitably right. Right, because you were my father. That’s what’s gone out of the family relationship since I was seventeen, Papa. Children don’t think you are right any longer, just because you are a parent.” + 

“Well, you’re not,” said Mr. Ward promptly. “That’s probably a step in the right direction, kid. What’s known as progress.” + 

“Well, it makes life terribly difficult for parents,” sighed Jane. “And I can’t help thinking it may make life terribly difficult for children.” + 

“Life’s terribly difficult at times for everyone,” said Mr. Ward. “A little thing like filial obedience doesn’t solve all the problems.” + 

“When I think of the ex cathedra pronouncements that Mamma used to make!” cried Jane. “Why, I never thought of questioning them!” + 

“And were they always right?” asked Mr. Ward. + 

“They were usually wrong,” said Jane. “But at least they stopped discussion and they decided the issue. Parents used to be just like umpires. All they had to do was to make a decision and stick to it!” + 

“It wasn’t an ideal system,” was Mr. Ward’s comment. + 

“You didn’t question it when it was in fashion,” retorted Jane. “You didn’t have the slightest hesitation in forbidding me to marry André. But we loved each other. We truly did, Papa. You never really took that into consideration. I might have been very happy as André’s wife.” + 

Mr. Ward’s glance was just a little intent as he contemplated his younger daughter. + 

“You’ve been very happy as Stephen’s wife, kid,” he said gently. + 

“Yes,” said Jane uncertainly. Words were too crude to define the subtleties of emotion. “Yes, I’ve been happy. But my marrying him was awfully irrelevant.” Suddenly that statement seemed terribly disloyal to Stephen. “You know, Papa,” she said in extenuation, “a war changed everything in my life.” + 

There was a pause, for a moment, in the sunlit room. Jane did not look at her father, but she knew, without looking, from his sudden, breathless silence that he had suffered a slight sense of shock. She realized then that her words were open to misinterpretation. She glanced quickly up at him. He was shocked. He looked at her a moment a little uncertainly. Then, “Which war, Jane?” he asked steadily. + 

She was awfully glad that he had put the direct question. In answering it she could answer all the unspoken questions that had been worrying him for the last four years. + 

“The Spanish one,” she said gravely. “The other didn’t⁠—didn’t really affect my action. I mean⁠—I mean it was all settled before⁠—” Her voice was failing her. She could not bear to mention Jimmy’s name. + 

“I’m glad to hear it, kid,” said her father gently. + 

He understood. She would not have to mention it. Jane drew a long breath and felt the emotional tension of the moment snap as she did so. She could return now to the problems of the younger generation. + 

“All I mean is,” she went on brightly, “you can’t really tell, can you, what will bring your children happiness? Perhaps they ought to decide for themselves⁠—” + 

As she spoke, Mrs. Ward opened the library door. Isabel followed her into the room. They had been talking together in Mrs. Ward’s bedroom. + 

“Well, I hope you’ve convinced Jane that she must put her foot down,” said Mrs. Ward briskly. Her hand was on the bell-rope to summon Minnie to bring in the tea. + 

“Mamma, you don’t know what it’s like to handle Belle and Cicily,” said Isabel wearily. + 

“I handled you and Jane!” retorted Mrs. Ward. “And very foolish you often were! If it hadn’t been for your father and me⁠—” + 

Jane and her father burst simultaneously into irreverent laughter. Mrs. Ward looked quite offended. + 

“You don’t make it any easier, John, to control the grandchildren,” she said severely. + 

“I’ve retired,” said Mr. Ward, when he had subdued his laughter. “From my family as from my business. At seventy-two I’m glad to be a spectator. I hand the controls over to Jane.” + 