“Jack!” she ordered sharply.
“There’s no nonsense about you, Mary,” said Mr. Morton approvingly. “Jack has braced up so much recently—”
“If I have braced up, it’s been because Mary has made me!” put in Jack.
“I don’t doubt it, and I want to thank you, Mary. He’s braced up so much that a long-contemplated marriage, which has been delayed by his irresponsibility, can now go through; and I want it settled and over with, quick, while Jack is still in a reformed mood—before he breaks loose again. I know you’ll be sensible and reasonable about this matter, for I know you went into the affair knowing it could not last.”
Jack seized his father’s arm. “Father, you’ve got to listen—”
“Jack!” Mary again cried peremptorily.
“She’s taking it with a lot more sense than you are, son. I’ll see that you have no reason to complain, Mary. I’ll ask Mr. Clifford to talk over the arrangement with you. He can speak in better taste for me than I can speak for myself.”
He took her hand, and there was a very real admiration—of its sort—in his gray eyes. He spoke in a lowered voice.
“Merely because Jack must go, I don’t want it to be the end of things between you and the Mortons. I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing you soon.”
“Perhaps,” said her lips.