“No,” Harlan interrupted quietly; “she’s never liked me. I have no doubt when her will is read you’ll find it out.”
But upon this his father intervened cheerfully. “Let’s don’t talk about her will just yet,” he said. “She’s going to be with us a long time, we hope. Dan, you’d better go and tell her your news to-morrow.”
“I did, sir. I went this afternoon.”
“What did she say?”
Dan passed his hand across his forehead. “Well—she—well, I told her about it and—well, you know how she is, sir. She—isn’t apt to get enthusiastic about hardly anything. She seemed to think—well, one thing she seemed to think was that I’m sort of young to be gettin’ married.”
“Well, maybe,” said his father. “Maybe she’s right.”
“No, sir, I don’t believe so. You see grandma is almost ninety-three. Why, to a person of that age almost anybody else looks pretty young. You see, it isn’t so much I am young; it’s only I look young to grandma.”
But upon this argument, delivered in a tone most hopeful of convincing, Mr. Oliphant laughed outright. “So that’s the way of it!” he exclaimed, and, returning to his seat by the fire, again extended his feet to the fender. “Well, whether you’re really a little too young or only appear so, on account of your grandmother’s advanced age, we have to face the fact that you’ve asked this young lady to marry you, and she’s said she will. When that’s happened, all the old folks can do is to make the best of it. You know we’ll do that, don’t you, son?”
“Yes, sir,” Dan said a little bleakly. “I knew you would.” He took the blue case from his mother’s lap, and kissed her as she looked pathetically up at him; then he moved toward the door. “I—I always knew I could count on you and mother, sir.”
“Yes, Dan,” Mrs. Oliphant murmured, “you know you can.”