“From what I’ve heard you’re kinda free and hasty in your lovin’,” Sutherland replied.
Robin’s face clouded.
“You have no right to say a thing like that,” he returned.
“I got a right to say what suits me,” Sutherland declared. “I don’t know as you’re the man I’d pick for my daughter.”
“Your daughter,” May broke in with unexpected passion in her voice, “will do her own picking when it comes to a man. You know that, dad. I’ve told you time and time again. I’ve been good and obedient in everything you’ve ever asked of me. But you can’t do my marrying for me.”
“It’s come to that already, has it?” Sutherland muttered. He took off his hat and rolled it in his hands. His glance, bent alternately on Robin and his daughter, was doubtful. But neither that dubious glance on his otherwise impassive, florid face, nor the tone of his voice, gave any clue to what lay in his mind. “You ain’t lost no time. Talk about marryin’—a couple of kids!” he snorted suddenly. “I’ll have something to say about that.”
“Say it, then,” Robin suggested. “Say it right now. Let’s hear your kick on me as a man, if you have one.”
“There’s something else I want to talk about to you first,” Sutherland said slowly. His glance flickered toward the south window. “This can wait awhile. Come out on the porch.”
“Dad.” May put her hands up on her father’s thick shoulder. “You don’t really think I haven’t a right to pick my own man, do you? You’re not going to make a mistake like that?”
“I never denied you much,” he looked down at her. “But the man that gets you’s got to be all wool an’ a yard wide.”