“Why not tell him now?” they seemed to ask. But he said: “There’s a long story to tell before we decide on my career. Let’s finish our lunch. How is mother, and how are the girls?”
Once, in the midst of a lame pursuit of other topics, the elder Norcross again fixed his eyes on Berea, saying: “I wish my girls had your weight and color.” He paused a moment, then resumed with weary infliction: “Mrs. Norcross has always been delicate, and all her children—even her son—take after her. I’ve maintained a private and very expensive hospital for nearly thirty years.”
This regretful note in his father’s voice gave Wayland confidence. His spirits rose.
“Come, let’s adjourn to the parlor and talk things over at our ease.”
They all followed him, and after showing the mother and daughter to their seats near a window he drew his father into a corner, and in rapid undertone related the story of his first meeting with Berrie, of his trouble with young Belden, of his camping trip, minutely describing the encounter on the mountainside, and ended by saying, with manly directness: “I would be up there in the mountains in a box if Berrie had not intervened. She’s a noble girl, father, and is foolish enough to like me, and I’m going to marry her and try to make her happy.”
The old lumberman, who had listened intently all through this impassioned story, displayed no sign of surprise at its closing declaration; but his eyes explored his son’s soul with calm abstraction. “Send her over to me,” he said, at last. “Marriage is a serious matter. I want to talk with her—alone.”
Wayland went back to the women with an air of victory. “He wants to see you, Berrie. He’s mellowing. Don’t be afraid of him.”
She might have resented the father’s lack of gallantry; but she did not. On the contrary, she rose and walked resolutely over to where he sat, quite ready to defend herself. He did not rise to meet her, but she did not count that against him, for there was nothing essentially rude in his manner. He was merely her elder, and inert.
“Sit down,” he said, not unkindly. “I want to have you tell me about my son. He has been telling me all about you. Now let’s have your side of the story.”
She took a seat and faced him with eyes as steady as his own. “Where shall I begin?” she bluntly challenged.