The girl rose proudly. Drew, from the shadow outside the rose-light, studied the slender figure crowned with a close-drawn turban of blue-black hair. His eyes ranged down to her slipper heels. They lifted again. He stroked his chin as he waited for her answer. It came truthfully enough and with high spirit.
“Yes, I’ll marry him some day. I want your permission, but with it or without it, father, I am going to marry him. He’s a captain in the Army. Doesn’t that prove he is not all the things you said he was?”
“Good girl,” said Drew in whispered admiration.
“It proves nothing!” exclaimed Stockbridge stiffening in his chair and half rising. “He’s a cad and an ass under all his uniform. He’s too poor to be considered for one moment. I want my daughter to marry––”
“Whom she pleases,” said Loris. “Harry may be poor, but he’s not too proud to fight!”
“Bah! They get those uniforms so the girls will notice them. What does he know about war?”
“He’s been at Plattsburg for three months. He’s in town on furlough. He’s helping us with Red Cross work. Isn’t that noble!”
“That part’s all right,” said the Magnate. “I want you to keep him from me, that’s all. I believe he’s half German!”
“He’s not! Harry is all-American. His mother was born of German parents in this country. His father was Canadian. You’ve heard of the Nichols who built part of the Grand Trunk Railroad. Was he German?”
Stockbridge paled under the torrent which gushed from the girl’s lips.