“Father, a while ago when you seemed in some grave trouble I asked you why you did not ask me anything. I told you I had never lied to you and should not do so then; but you asked me nothing. Why don’t you ask me now?”
“What should I ask you, little girl. You are married; and your duty is to some one else whose name you bear. Besides, I don’t ask women questions which may be painful to answer. Such I ask of men!”
To this she spoke in a calm voice which made Athlyne uneasy. He could not imagine what she was coming at; but he felt that whatever it might be it was out of the truth of her nature, and that he must support her. Her love he never doubted. In the meantime he must listen patiently and learn what she had to say.
“Well father, as you will not ask I must speak unasked. It is harder; that is all. The Sheriff said that mutual intention was necessary for marriage. Let me tell you that I had not then such intention! I must say it. I have never lied to you yet; and I don’t intend to begin now. Especially when I am entering on a new life with a man whom I love and honour. For if this marriage be not good we shall soon have one that is—if he will have me.” Athlyne took her hand; she sighed joyfully as she went on:
“I certainly did intend to marry Mr. … Lord Athlyne when … when he should formally ask me; but I understood then that there was some obstacle to his doing so. This I now know to be that he was wanting to get your consent beforehand. But if I did not then intend that our coming for a run in the motor together was to be marriage, how can I by that act be married?” As she paused Athlyne realised what was the cause of that vague apprehension which had chilled him. Colonel Ogilvie was beset by a new difficulty by this new attitude of Joy. If she repudiated intention such would nullify the marriage, since Athlyne had signified his intention of letting her have her way. If there were no marriage, then there would be scandal. So before beginning to argue with his daughter on the subject of the validity of the marriage, he thought it well to bring to the aid of reason the forces of fear. He commenced by intimidation:
“Of course you understand, daughter, that if you and Lord Athlyne were not married through the accidents of your escapade, there will be scandal from it; there is no other alternative. In that case, such pacific measures as I have now acceded to will be abrogated; and the gentleman who was the cause of the evil must still answer to me for it.” At this threat Joy grew ghastly pale. Athlyne, wrung to the heart by it, forgot his intention of discretion and said quickly and sharply:
“That is not fair, Colonel Ogilvie. She is a woman—if she is your daughter, and is not to be treated brutally. You must not strike at a man through a woman. If you want to strike a man do so direct! I am the man. Strike me, how and when you will; but this woman is my wife—at least she is until she repudiates our marriage! But till then by God! no man—not even her father himself—shall strike her or at her, or through her!” Both he and Joy were surprised at the meek way in which the old man received this tirade. But even whilst he had been uttering the cruel threat both his conscience and his courage had been against him. This, the man and the woman who heard could, from evidence, divine. But there was another cause of which they had no knowledge. The moment after speaking, when his blind passion began to cool, the last words of his wife came back to his memory: “Be good to her, and never forget that she can suffer most through any one dear to her.” Furthermore, the recollection of Judy’s words as he was leaving clinched the matter: “You hold poor Joy’s life—which is her heart—in your hand!” He began his reply to Athlyne truculently—as was usual to him; but melted quickly as he went on:
“Hey-day my young bantam-cock; you flash your spurs boldly. … But I don’t know but you’re right. I was wrong; I admit it! Joy my dear I apologise for it; and to you too, sir, who stand up so valiantly and so readily for your wife. I am glad my little girl has such a defender; though it is and will be a sad thought to me that I was myself the first to cause its evidence. But keep your hair on, young man! Men sometimes get hurt by running up against something that’s quite in its right place. … It’s my place to look after my little girl—till such time as you have registered your bond-rights. And see, doesn’t she declare she had no idea she was being married. However, it’s all right in this case. I don’t mean her to give herself away over this part of the job any more than you did a while ago when you stopped her telling me something that it wouldn’t have been wise to say. So, sir, guess we’ll call it quits this time. Well, little girl, let me tell you that you’ve said all at once to me two different things. You said you didn’t intend to marry Lord Athlyne that time, but that you did at some other. If that last doesn’t make an intention to marry I’m a Dutchman. I think we’d better let it rest at that! Now as to you Lord Athlyne! You seem to want—and rightly enough I’ll allow—that I make a formal retraction of my demand for your life. Well I do so now. There’s my hand! I can give it to you freely, for you are a brave man and you love my little girl; and my little girl loves you. I’m right sorry I didn’t know you at the first as I do now. But I suppose the fact is, I was jealous all along. You don’t know—yet—what I know: that you were thrown at me in a lot of ways before I ever saw you, by the joke that my little girl and Judy put up on me. When I knew that my girl was calling herself by your name. …”
“Daddy dear!” This was Joy’s protest. “Yes, little girl, I won’t give you away; but your husband should know this fact lest he keep a grudge in his heart against your old daddy—and I know you wouldn’t like that. You can tell him, some of these days or nights, what you like yourself about the whole thing from the first. I dare say he’ll want to know, and won’t let you alone till you tell him. And I dare say not then; for he’ll like—he’s bound to—all you can say. Here, Athlyne—I suppose that’s what I am to call you since you’re my son now—at any rate my daughter’s husband.” As he spoke he held out his hand. Athlyne jumped forward and seized it warmly. The two men shook hands as do two strong men who respect each other. Joy stepped forward and took the clasped hands between her own. When the hands parted she kissed her husband and then her father; she had accepted the situation.
After a pause Athlyne said, quietly but with a very resolute look on his face: