So matters stood as they were. The circumstances were fortuitous enough. Grove was the one fly in the ointment,—an uncertainty as to what he might do or say. And Grove had just betaken himself across the Atlantic, cooking up some financial stew in London. Grove was very jealous of his dignity. He was more arrogant than ever. Rod anticipated a certain amount of minor trouble with Grove. Hence he was as well satisfied that Grove was not present to inject the virus of his distaste into the already dubious mind of their father. Phil merely grinned and wished him luck.
"I don't know that I'd have had it turn out just this way if I'd been the arbiter of destiny," Oliver Thorn said to him. "I hope you and Mary will never be sorry. It's natural, I suppose—but natural evolution sometimes has its pains and disasters. Why do you want to go outside your own class to fall in love and marry?"
"Because I can't find what I want in my own crowd," Rod responded blithely. "Neither can Mary," he added as an afterthought.
Old Thorn reflected on this.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted soberly. "I never thought of it just that way before."
"And when it comes down to brass tacks," Rod went on, "the only fundamental difference between my family and yours is a matter of money. It's hardly right to classify us as belonging to a different order."
"True enough," Thorn agreed. "Mary's people, her mother's and mine, have had advantages, as they say. We didn't somehow manage to retain a stranglehold on the sources of wealth, that's all. We've been a restless lot. We've helped open up new territory from the Alleghanies west. We've always been independent. But we never took root for long. There are certain inherent advantages in taking root in the right sort of soil," his gaze rested on the red roof beyond the channel, "in taking hold and hanging on. With the prestige that goes with money—pshaw!" he made an impatient gesture. "When I let go this timber I'll have plenty to give two old people of simple tastes a comfortable living as long as they live. I never thought about money in connection with Mary before. Maybe she'll have a tussle with some of your crowd. Still—give her a wardrobe and a background—she has everything else—they'd all kowtow."
"My idea," Rod agreed blandly. "They will."
"Perhaps," Oliver Thorn sighed. "Still, she's got a handicap. If the going gets rough, don't blame Mary. Blame me. I should have foreseen something like this—and made preparation."
"Oh dammit," Rod said carelessly, "there isn't going to be any blame. Mary has real class. You know it. I know it. If there are poor simps on our visiting list who won't recognize it, why I'll just mark 'em off the list."