"A man called John McNeil asked my consent to marry you, Ann."
"Yes, Father"; her voice was a trifle unsteady.
"I supposed him to be the honorable and straight-faced young gentleman he seemed to be."
She made no reply. John Rutledge blew out a couple of puffs of smoke.
"From your mother I have just learned that there is no such person as John McNeil."
"No, Father."
"This McNamra, or whoever he may be, may turn up in these parts again some time."
"I don't know"; and the tremor had not left her voice.
"He might have the unmitigated hardihood to expect to marry the daughter of John Rutledge, the girl he courted under the name of McNeil. If he should—if he should come back and should even look like he thought of such a thing—I would—would——"