“I’m not forgetting that, daddy. I know he’s different, that’s why I like him.” After a pause she added: “Nobody could have been nicer all through these days than he has been. He was like a brother.”
McFarlane fixed a keen glance upon her. “Has he said anything to you? Did you come to an understanding?”
Her eyes fell. “Not the way you mean, daddy; but I think he—likes me. But do you know who he is? He’s the son of W. W. Norcross, that big Michigan lumberman.”
McFarlane started. “How do you know that?”
“Mr. Moore asked him if he was any relation to W.W. Norcross, and he said, ‘Yes, a son.’ You should have seen how that Moore girl changed her tune the moment he admitted that. She’d been very free with him up to that time; but when she found out he was a rich man’s son she became as quiet and innocent as a kitten. I hate her; she’s a deceitful snip.”
“Well, now, daughter, that being the case, it’s all the more certain that he don’t belong to our world, and you mustn’t fix your mind on keeping him here.”
“A girl can’t help fixing her mind, daddy.”
“Or changing it.” He smiled a little. “You used to like Cliff. You liked him well enough to promise to marry him.”
“I know I did; but I despise him now.”
“Poor Cliff! He isn’t so much to blame after all. Any man is likely to flare out when he finds another fellow cutting in ahead of him. Why, here you are wanting to kill Siona Moore just for making up to your young tourist.”