"You can't help yourself if I am determined to go. You don't want to start a scandal in high society, do you, by refusing to take me? I don't care to go any more than you care to have me," bitterly, "but—but I promised. Uncle Nick knew what he was doing when he made me read that marriage service, 'and forsaking all others'—I shall be doing that all right. But it was not a fair-weather vow. If your interests take you to the ranch I shall go with you."
"What will your father say?"
She shrank away from him but he still had her hands in his and drew her back. Her lips curved in a disdainful smile.
"I think—I think we shall have what the miners used to call a 'helofarow.'"
"He will never consent to your going."
"What difference will that make? How can he prevent it? He cannot take back what he has given your father. That is all that need concern you," with exasperated frankness. He flushed darkly at her tone, dropped her hands, and touched a bell. When the butler opened the door he commanded curtly, "Judson, ask Mr. Lawson and my father to come here."
When the two men appeared in answer to the summons Glamorgan was with them. His face was deeply flushed, his little green eyes snapped with anger.
"Look here, Jerry, what's this I hear about your going off on a ranch? It can't be done, I tell you. Steve doesn't need that—that old mischief-maker's money," his voice broke queerly, but he steadied it and went on, "Why doesn't he stay here and spend mine?"
"You are quite right, Mr. Glamorgan. I have been trying to impress your daughter with the fact that she need not take her marriage vows literally. I am content to eat the crumbs which fall from my rich father-in-law's table."
"Steve!" Peter Courtlandt protested brokenly.