"She never is, sir. She has not been at the Point since I went there."
"Hard on you, if she went there before; you speak as if she were a fixed fact. Do you know, Magnus, I am rather sorry to hear that."
"Why, sir?" demanded Magnus, noting the pulsating colour in the fair face bent over the needlework.
"Well, when I thought of it, I hoped you would keep clear of all such entanglements till you knew what you wanted."
"I did, sir."
"Oh, of course! I beg pardon; I should have said till you had seen a little more of the world."
"Do you think the world is the place to choose, sir?"
Mr. Erskine smiled, half sorrowfully.
"I have only an old matchlock," he said, "and cannot cope with you young sharpshooters. But my boy, what I meant was this. When the boy goes off to college and grows into new mental strength and riches, and the girl stays at home and gets not half a chance, poor child, to do anything but wash dishes or (now do not glower at me) perhaps does not wish for higher things, then the man comes home raised to a plane where she is not fitted to stand by his side, and she can never be the helpmeet for him that she should."
Magnus listened respectfully; watching that lovely, flitting colour, it was not hard to sit still.