Albert turned, but, with a shaking hand upon the doorknob, turned back again.
“I'm—I—I'm sorry, Mr. Fosdick,” he faltered. “I—I didn't mean to say anything to hurt your feelings. But—but, you see, Madeline—she and I—we—”
He could not go on. Fosdick's nod and answer were not unkindly. “All right, Speranza,” he said, “I'm not offended. Hope I wasn't too blunt, myself. Good-day.”
When the door had closed behind the young man he turned to Captain Lote.
“Sorry if I offended you, Snow,” he observed. “I threw in that hint about marrying just to see what effect it would have, that's all.”
“Um-hm. So I judged. Well, you saw, didn't you?”
“I did. Say, Captain, except as a prospective son-in-law, and then only because I don't see him in that light—I rather like that grandson of yours. He's a fine, upstanding young chap.”
The captain made no reply. He merely pulled at his beard. However, he did not look displeased.
“He's a handsome specimen, isn't he?” went on Fosdick. “No wonder Madeline fell for his looks. Those and the poetry together are a combination hard to resist—at her age. And he's a gentleman. He handled himself mighty well while I was stringing him just now.”
The beard tugging continued. “Um-hm,” observed Captain Zelotes dryly; “he does pretty well for a—South Harniss gentleman. But we're kind of wastin' time, ain't we, Mr. Fosdick? In spite of his looks and his manners and all the rest, now that you've seen him you still object to that engagement, I take it.”