“She has wonderful adaptability, I know,” answered Wayland, slowly. “But I don’t like to take her away from here—from you.”
“If you hadn’t come she would have married Cliff—and what kind of a life would she have led with him?” demanded McFarlane. “I knew Cliff was rough, but I couldn’t convince her that he was cheap. I live only for her happiness, my boy, and, though I know you will take her away from me, I believe you can make her happy, and so—I give her over to you. As to time and place, arrange that—with—her mother.” He turned and walked away, unable to utter another word.
Wayland’s throat was aching also, and he went back into the house with a sense of responsibility which exalted him into sturdier manhood.
Berea met him in a pretty gown, a dress he had never seen her wear, a costume which transformed her into something entirely feminine.
She seemed to have put away the self-reliant manner of the trail, and in its stead presented the lambent gaze, the tremulous lips of the bride. As he looked at her thus transfigured his heart cast out its hesitancy and he entered upon his new adventure without further question or regret.
XV
A MATTER OF MILLINERY
It was three o’clock of a fine, clear, golden afternoon as they said good-by to McFarlane and started eastward, as if for a little drive. Berrie held the reins in spite of Wayland’s protestations. “These bronchos are only about half busted,” she said. “They need watching. I know them better than you do.” Therefore he submitted, well knowing that she was entirely competent and fully informed.