“Anyhow, dear,” she said, “I’ve come to talk to you about something terribly important. What would you say, father, if I told you I was engaged?” Mr. Cord was so startled that he said, what was rare for him, the first thing that came into his head: “Not to Eddie?” The true diplomatist, we have been told, simply takes advantage of chance, and Crystal was diplomatic. “And suppose it is?” she replied. “I should refuse my consent,” replied her father. Crystal looked hurt. “Is there anything against Eddie,” she asked, “except his golf?” “Yes,” answered her father, “there are two of the most serious things in the world against him—first, that he doesn’t amount to anything; and second, that you don’t love him.” “No,” Crystal admitted, “I don’t, but then—love—father, isn’t love rather a serious undertaking nowadays? Is it a particularly helpful adjunct to marriage? Look at poor Eugenia. Isn’t it really more sensible to marry a nice man who can support one, and then if in time one does fall in love with another man—” “Never let me hear you talk like that again, Crystal,” said her father, with a severity and vigor he seldom showed outside of board meetings. “It’s only your ignorance of life that saves you from being actually revolting. I’m an old man and not sentimental, you’ll grant, but, take my word for it, love is the only hope of pulling off marriage successfully, and even then it’s not easy. As for Eugenia, I think she’s made a fool of herself and is going to be unhappy, but I’d rather do what she has done than what you’re contemplating. At least she cared for that fellow—” “I’m glad you feel like that, darling,” said Crystal, “because it isn’t Eddie I’m engaged to, but Ben Moreton. He’s waiting downstairs now.” Mr. Cord started up—his eyes shining like black flames. “By God! Crystal,” he said, “you sha’n’t marry that fellow—Eugenia—perhaps—but not you.” “But, father, you said yourself, you thought he was a fine—” “I don’t care what I said,” replied Mr. Cord, and, striding to the door, he flung it open and called in a voice that rolled about the stone hall: “Mr. Moreton, Mr. Moreton! Come up here, will you?” Ben came bounding up the stairs like a panther. Cord beckoned him in with a sharp gesture and shut the door. “This won’t do at all, Moreton,” he said. “You can’t have Crystal.” Ben did not answer; he looked very steadily at Cord, who went on: “You think I can’t stop it—that she’s of age and that you wouldn’t take a penny of my money, anyhow. That’s the idea, isn’t it?” “That’s it,” said Ben. Cord turned sharply to Crystal. “Does what I think make any difference to you?” he asked. “A lot, dear,” she answered, “but I don’t understand. You never seemed so much opposed to the radical doctrine.” “No, it’s the radical, not the doctrine, your father objects to,” said Ben.