Before Guy went home that night, when they were lingering in the hall, he told Pauline that the next thing to be done was to write to his own father.
"Guy, do you think he'll like me?"
"Why, how could he help it? But he may grumble at the idea of my being engaged."
"When do you think he'll write?"
"I expect he'll come down here to see me. In the Spring he wrote and said he would."
"Guy, I'm sure he's going to make it difficult for you."
Guy shook his head.
"I know how to manage him," he proclaimed confidently.
Then he opened the door; along the drive the wind moaned, getting up for a gusty Bartlemy-tide.
Pauline stood in the lighted doorway letting the light shine upon him until he was lost in the shadows of the tall trees, sending, as he vanished, one more kiss down the wind to her.