Clay chuckled.
“It’s a proper feeling. I find no fault with it. Anyway, I’m glad to see that this time you’re looking nearer your own level. I felt a bit worried about you some years ago.”
Taken by surprise, as he was, the blood crept into Aynsley’s face. He had been infatuated with a girl in a cigar store, and it was disconcerting to learn that his father had known all about the affair. Clay had said nothing, but Aynsley had no doubt that he would have acted had he thought it needful.
“Well,” he said with some confusion, “I was at a sentimental age, but I wasn’t so foolish as you seem to think. Miss Neston was quite good enough for me, and I’d like you to remember it, since you have mentioned the matter.”
“We’ll let it go,” Clay answered dryly. “I guess you have a different idea of your value now. But you don’t seem to be making much progress with Ruth Osborne. I suppose you really want her?”
They had passed the steepest pitch of the hill, but Aynsley threw in the lowest gear and turned quietly to his father.
“You have a rather crude way of putting things; but you can take it that I want her more than anything in the world.”
“Very well. I can get her for you.”
Aynsley made an abrupt movement, and then said slowly, “I think not. This is a matter in which you can’t help me; I want you to understand it.”
His resolute manner puzzled Clay, who had not often found him so determined.