"We'll soon find out."
MacRae took her hand. They went down off the backbone of the Point, through ferns and over the long uncut grass, down to the fire where the wash from the heavy swell outside made watery murmurs along the gravelly beach.
Gower looked up at them, waited for them to speak.
"Betty and I are going to be married soon," MacRae announced abruptly.
"Oh?" Gower took the pipe out of his mouth and rapped the ash out of it in the palm of his hand. "You don't do things half-heartedly, do you, MacRae? You deprive me of a very profitable business. You want my ranch—and now my housekeeper."
"Daddy!" Betty remonstrated.
"Oh, well, I suppose I can learn to cook for myself," Gower rumbled.
He was frowning. He looked at them staring at him, nonplussed. Suddenly he burst into deep, chuckling laughter.
"Sit down, sit down, and look at the fire," he said. "Bless your soul, if you want to get married that's your own business.