John Denby laughed lightly. Sharp words had very evidently been on the end of his tongue, when, with a sudden change of countenance, he relaxed in his chair, and said:-- "Well done, Burke. Your sentiments do you credit, I'm sure. But aren't we getting a little melodramatic? I feel as if I were on the stage of a second-rate theater! However, I stand corrected; and we'll speak very respectfully of the lady hereafter. I have no doubt she is very good and very lovely, as you say; but"--his mouth hardened a little--"I must still insist that she is no fit wife for my son." "Why not?" "Obvious reasons." "I suppose you mean--because she has to work for her living," flashed the boy. "But that--excuse me--seems to me plain snobbishness. And I must say again I didn't think it of you, dad. I supposed--" "Come, come, this has gone far enough," interrupted the distraught, sorely tried father of an idolized son. "You're only a boy. You don't know your own mind. You'll fancy yourself in love a dozen times yet before the time comes for you to marry." "I'm not a boy. I'm a man grown." "You're not twenty-one yet." "I shall be next month. And I _do_ know my own mind. You'll see, father, when I'm married." "But you're not going to be married at present. And you're never going to marry this nursemaid." "Father!" "I mean what I say." "You won't give your consent?" "Never!" "Then-- I'll do it without, after next month." There was a tense moment of silence. Father and son faced each other, angry resentment in their eyes. Then, with a sharp ejaculation, John Denby got to his feet and strode to the window. When he turned a minute later and came back, the angry resentment was gone. His mouth was stern, but his eyes were pleading. He came straight to his son and put both hands on his shoulders. "Burke, listen to me," he begged. "I'm doing this for two reasons. First, to save you from yourself. You've known this girl scarcely two weeks--hardly an adequate preparation for a lifetime of living together. And just here comes in the second reason. However good and lovely she may be, she couldn't possibly qualify for that long lifetime together, Burke. Simply because she works for her living has nothing to do with it. She has not the tastes or the training that should belong to your wife--that _must_ belong to your wife if she is to make you happy, if she is to take the place of--your mother. And that is the place your wife will take, of course, Burke." Under the restraining hands on his shoulders the boy stirred restlessly. "Tastes! Training! What do I care for that? She suits my tastes." "She wouldn't--for long." "You wait and see." "Too great a risk to run, my boy." "I'll risk it. I'm going to risk it." Again there was a moment's silence. Again the stern lines deepened around the man's lips. Then very quietly there came the words:--