"Do you know anything about a friend of his who is going to be married soon? He spoke to me about it the other day, and asked if a parent could legally deprive a daughter of a share in her deceased father's—"
"Why,—that's me, Kenny," she cried excitedly. "I told him that mother would disinherit me entirely if I married him without her consent."
A light broke over him. "By jingo!" he cried. "I am beginning to see. Why, it's as plain as day to me now. The beastly scoundrel!"
"What do you mean?"
"Could your mother very well carry out her threat if he made off with you by force and compelled you to marry him, whether or no?"
She stiffened. "I would never,—never consent, Kenny. I would die first."
"I suppose you imagine there could be no worse fate than that?" he said, pity in his eyes.
She looked puzzled for a moment and then grasped his meaning. Her face blanched.
"I said I would die first," she repeated in a low, steady voice.
"Well," he cried, starting up briskly from his chair, "I guess we'd better hurry if we want to catch your mother before she goes to bed. And that reminds me, Viola,—I would like to speak with her alone. You see," he went on lamely, "you see, we're not friends and I don't know how she will receive me."