He got up and paced the floor and gazed out at Myrtle Boulevard; then he came back to us.
"You've thought it all over—and made up your mind?" He stooped over her, turned her face up to his, and gently pushed the hair back on her forehead. Helen's grey eyes looked fearlessly into his.
"Yes, dad, I'm sure."
"What if I say 'no'?"
"You won't, dad—not when you know Ted. But if you do—why, dad, you believe I love you, don't you?—even if you said 'no' I should love Ted just the same."
Mr. Claybourne turned away and twisted one end of his moustache. There were no tears in Helen's eyes, only a quiet conviction in her voice which indicated a strength of character much like her father's. I knew that he too recognized it.
"I won't give you a penny, Helen; you've got to take him as he is, fight your own fight, and make your own way. I did it, and your grandfather did it; you'll have to do it, too."
"Then I shall do it," she answered, "as you did. I'm your daughter, and I'm not afraid—whatever the future brings, as long as I have Teddy—and he has me." She said it simply, unemotionally, like some one stating a fact.
"There's not much more to discuss, is there, Ted?" and he took my hand in a grip that hurt. "But mind you," he exclaimed, "you'll regard yourselves as both on probation. No announcement can be made before Christmas—and not then unless I say the word."
"If you don't say the word then, we'll simply run away," Helen came back at him with her dangerous calm. Then she smiled again: "Dear old dad."