Just at this moment a tall figure came through the window.
“What a beautiful night,” said a quiet voice.
“Father, this is Mr. Lee,” said the girl, and there was a something anxious, almost appealing, in her tone.
The anxiety seemed unnecessary, for Overton answered pleasantly: “What, Bob Lee? glad to see you here!” As he spoke he stepped out into the moonlight, and Vickers saw his long, thin, clever Yankee face. “Just going?” he went on, glancing at his guest, who as a matter of fact had no such intention. “I’ll walk a little way with you.”
Vickers was surprised at the Great Man’s cordiality, but his surprise was short-lived. Indeed it lasted no further than the corner of the piazza.
“I always think, Mr. Lee,” Overton began at once, “that if a disagreeable thing has to be said, the sooner the better. Now I hope you will come and see me again, come and see me as often as you feel like it; but I do not desire your friendship for my daughter.”
In his day Vickers had knocked men down for less, but there was something so calm and friendly and reasonable in Overton’s manner that it never occurred to him to do more than ask quite mildly:
“And why this difference, sir?”
“Oh,” said Overton, “I allow myself a great many things I don’t permit Louisa—whiskey and cigars, and acquaintances with reformed characters. I assume that you have reformed, Mr. Lee, or else you would not have come to see us at all.”
“There is something very frank about the way you assume that I needed to,” retorted Vickers.