"And your father, Evan; are you coming to understand him any better?"
He shook his head despondently. "No; or rather yes. I might say that I
am coming to understand him--or his methods--only too well. The only
way we can keep from quarrelling now is to banish politics when we are
together."
"I am sorry," she said, and the sorrow was emphatic in her tone. "As I
have said before, you don't understand him. You are judging him by
standards which, however just and true they may be, are peculiarly your
own standards. I know you can be broad for others when you try. Can't
you be broad for him?"
It was good to hear her defend his father. It was what he would have
wished his wife to do. Suddenly there arose within him a huge reluctance
to lessen or to weaken in any way her trust in David Blount.
"Let us say that the fault is mine," he interposed hastily. "God forbid
that I should be the means of making you think less of him in any
respect."
"You couldn't do that, Evan. He is simply a grand old man--the first I
have ever known for whom the hackneyed phrase seemed to have been made,"
she asserted warmly. "If he has faults, I am sure they are nothing more
than gigantic virtues--the faults of a man who is too strong and too
magnanimous to be little in any respect."
The final half-square lay behind them, and Mrs.
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