“What do you think of that?” he asked.
To the surprise of both men, Crystal replied with a laugh. “I was wondering,” she said, “when either of you would get round to asking what I thought of it all.”
“Well, what do you think?” said Cord, almost harshly.
Crystal rose, and, slipping her arm through his, leaned her head on the point of her father’s shoulder—he was of a good height. “I think,” she said, “you both talk beautifully. I was so proud of you both—saying such profound things so easily, and keeping your tempers so perfectly” (both brows smoothed out), “and it was all the more wonderful because, it seemed to me, you were both talking about things you knew nothing about.”
“What do you mean?” burst from both men with simultaneous astonishment.
“Ben, dear, father doesn’t know any radicals—except you, and he’s only seen you twice. Father dear, I don’t believe Ben ever talked five minutes with an able, successful conservative until he came here to-day.”
“You’re going to throw me over, Crystal?” said Ben, seeing her pose more clearly than he heard her words.
“No,” said Mr. Cord, bitterly, “she’s going to throw over an old man in favor of a young one.”
“You silly creatures,” said Crystal, with a smile that made the words affectionate and not rude. “How can I ever throw either of you over? I’m going to be Ben’s wife, and I am my father’s daughter. I’m going to be those two things for all my life.”
Ben took her hand. She puzzled him, but he adored her. “But some day, Crystal,” he said, “you will be obliged to choose between our views—mine or your father’s. You must see that.”