Swift shook his head, but there was a mist in Inza’s eyes and she gazed through a blurring veil at the father she had ever loved, despite his faults.
For Bernard Burrage had not been perfect. Once there had been a time that, with a persistency that seemed a craze, he had done his best to marry his beautiful daughter off to a wealthy man. His false view of life had led him to fancy he was best providing for her if he secured her a rich husband.
Perhaps he was not so much to blame, for he had felt the spirit of these days which has seized upon womanhood. He understood how the woman of to-day loves luxury, ease, show, society, position, and all that, and how thousands of them are ready and willing to sell body and soul for that which they covet.
In the past it was different. Then girls married because they loved, and they were willing to do everything in their power to aid their husbands in the struggle to rise. Then the question was not if the man could support them in the style to which they had become accustomed, but the girl was ready to take him, if she loved him, “for better or worse,” to cast her fortunes with his, to rise with him or to fall with him.
But Bernard Burrage had not looked at marriage in this way, and he did not give his daughter credit for having more heart and soul than that of the average modern girl spoiled by longings for wealth and social position.
In this he had made a great mistake, for Inza Burrage would not have tied herself to any man merely for riches or social standing. And she had baffled his every effort to accomplish his purpose until at last he gave up.
“Often,” said Swift, “I’ve wondered if you were married yet, Miss Burrage.”
“Oh, dear, no!” said she, turning toward the window to brush the mist from her eyes. “I’ve not thought of such a thing.”
“I’m glad you are not,” he declared, in his very meaning manner. “There was a caddish young chap at the academy whom you seemed to care for, but I fancied you would outgrow that.”
She looked at him inquiringly.