"I had hoped you did, boy. And remember this—it's only when a woman gets so into your system that she cannot be purged out, that you dare to be sure."
"But, Uncle Dave, the knowledge—what has it done for you?"
"You'll never be able to understand that, Bud, until you're past the age of asking the question."
And having settled that to his satisfaction, Martin turned resolutely to what threatened Doris and Nancy.
He meant to see fair play. Doris could be depended upon for a few strenuous months if her friends turned to and helped her as they should.
Nancy must no longer be sacrificed!
"If there is any sense in this tomfoolery about Joan," Martin mused, "it must apply to Nancy also."
Martin was extremely fond of Nancy. He often wished she would not lean so heavily, but then his spiritual ideal of a woman was after Nancy's design. Of Joan he disapproved, and Doris was a type apart.
"If we can marry Nancy off," plotted Martin—and he had his mind's eye on his nephew—"I'll bring Sister on from the West and get Doris to share Ridge House with us. Queer combination, but safe!"
And then he saw, as in a vision, the peaceful years on ahead. He would hold Doris's hand down the westering way. Hold it close and warm; never looking for more than the blessed companionship. And his sister, happy and content, would share the way with them and Nancy's children—would they be Clive's also?—would gladden all their hearts. And Joan?—well, Martin did not feel that Joan needed his architectural aid—she was chopping and hacking her own design.