Kemp drew himself up, bowed low, and stood waiting some further word, his face ashy white. Levice’s lips trembled nervously, and then he spoke in a gentle, restrained way, half apologetically and in strange contrast to his former violence.
“You see, I am an old man rooted in old ideas; my wife, not so old, holds with me in this. I do not know how wildly she would take such a proposition. But, Dr. Kemp, as I said before, though I object, I shall not oppose this marriage. I love my daughter too dearly to place my beliefs as an obstacle to what she considers her happiness; it is she who will have to live the life, not I. You and I, sir, have been friends; outside of this one great difference there is no man to whom I would more gladly trust my child. I honor and esteem you as a gentleman who has honored my child in his love for her. If I have hurt you in these bitter words, forgive me; as my daughter’s husband, we must be more than friends.”
He held out his hand. The doctor took it, and holding it tightly in his, made answer somewhat confusedly,—
“Mr. Levice, I thank you. I can say no more now, except that no son could love and honor you more than I shall.”
Levice bent his head, and turned to Ruth, who sat, without a movement, looking straight ahead of her.
“My darling,” said her father, softly laying his hand on her head and raising her lovely face, “if I have seemed selfish and peculiar, trust me, dear, it was through no lack of love for you. Do not consider me; forget, if you will, all I have said. You are better able, perhaps, than I to judge what is best for you. Since you love Dr. Kemp, and if after all this thought, you feel you will be happy with him, then marry him. You know that I hold him highly, and though I cannot honestly give you to him, I shall not keep you from him. My child, the door is open; you can pass through without my hand. Good-night, my little girl.”
His voice quavered sadly over the old-time pet name as he stooped and kissed her. He wrung the doctor’s hand again in passing, and abruptly turned to leave the room. It was a long room to cross. Kemp and Ruth followed with their eyes the small, slightly stooped figure of the old man passing slowly out by himself. As the heavy portiere fell into place behind him, the doctor turned to Ruth, still seated in her chair.