“What did you say to him, Don?” she panted.
“I told him I wished to marry you to-morrow,” he answered.
“And he––”
“He said I shouldn’t. He said he could give you more with his ten thousand than I could give you with my twelve hundred. I told him I could give you more with my twelve hundred than he could with his ten thousand.”
“I’ve never seen him so angry,” she trembled.
“I’d never before seen him angry at all,” he admitted. “But, after all, that isn’t important, is it? The important thing is whether or not he’s right. That’s what you and I must decide for ourselves.”
She did not quite understand. She thought her father had already decided this question. However, she said nothing. In something of a 248 daze, she allowed herself to be led on toward the park––at night a big, shadowy region with a star-pricked sky overhead. Like one led in a dream she went, her thoughts quite confused, but with the firm grip of his hand upon her arm steadying her. He did not speak again until the paved street and the stone buildings were behind them––until they were among the trees and low bushes and gravel paths. He led her to a bench.
“See those stars?” he asked, pointing.
“Yes, Don.”
“I want you to keep looking at them while I’m talking to you,” he said.