“I presume you know the contents of this letter, Mr. Garwood?”
“I am aware of them, yes.”
“Miss Garwood says that you object to her engagement to me. Will you kindly tell me why?”
“With pleasure. You are not in a position to marry, and you entrapped my daughter into a clandestine engagement, which was not a manly thing to do. In fact, to put it very plainly, you are trying to marry money.”
“To put it just as plainly,” said Joe, flushing, “I don’t care about your money at all. I am in a position to marry. The secret engagement I own up to and take the blame for. I shouldn’t have consented to it.”
“Consented?” said Garwood sharply. “Then it was my daughter who suggested that?”
“Not at all,” said Joe, lying manfully as he felt bound to do after the slip. “It was my fault entirely.”
Garwood smiled cynically. “You needn’t shoulder all the blame. I know her better than you do.” He was rather surprised at the equanimity with which Kent accepted his dismissal. He had looked for a stormy interview with a disappointed, unreasonable youth who would protest and indulge in heroics. He felt quite kindly toward this young man, whose business, nevertheless, he intended to smash. Inwardly he made a note to offer him some sort of a job when that was accomplished. “I take back what I said a moment ago. But you must understand that there can be nothing between you and my daughter.”
“I think I understand that very well,” said Joe. “Glad to have made your acquaintance, Mr. Garwood. By the way, please tell Mr. Ackerman I recognized him to-day. Good night.”
Edith Garwood, peeping from behind a drawn blind, expected to see an utterly crushed being slink from the house. What she saw was an erect young man who paused on the steps to light a cigar, cocked it up at a jaunty angle, and went down the street head up and shoulders back.