Then, to Weston’s astonishment, the contractor’s manner changed suddenly, and he leaned forward with a smile.
“Well,” he said, “it’s possible that she could find one or two for you. But we have to face the situation. It seems that you love my daughter, and there is reason for believing that she is fond of you. Now, Ida has been accustomed to every luxury, and the only thing you count on is a share in the Grenfell mine, which I guess you will admit may go under at any time. What do you propose to do?”
“I don’t know,” replied Weston, simply. “It’s a question that has been driving me to desperation lately.”
“Well,” said Stirling, “I could find a way out of the difficulty. Are you open to place yourself in my hands, do what I tell you, and take what I may think fit to offer you?”
“No,” answered Weston. “I’m sorry—but I can’t do that.”
“Then, if the Grenfell goes under, you’d rather go back to the bush and chop trees for the ranchers or shovel on the railroads?”
Weston sat very still a moment, with his face awry. Then he looked up resolutely.
“Yes,” he said. “I think that, by and by, Miss Stirling would be glad I did it. She would not have her husband her father’s pensioner. After all,” he added, “one meets with sudden changes of fortune in the west.”
Then Stirling suddenly stretched out his hand and laid it on his companion’s shoulder.
“I’ve been twice warned by short-sighted women that my daughter might make an injudicious marriage, and on each occasion I pointed out that when she chose her husband she would choose just right,” he said. “Now it seems that she has done it, and I’m satisfied.”