“Yes, Daddy.”
He turned and walked as if groping his way towards the window.
Helen watched him, surprised and disappointed. “Why—why—Daddy!”
“Helen,” he said, still turned from her, “suppose—suppose I didn’t approve of your marrying Hugh—what would you do?”
The girl pouted a little. “Daddy dear,” she rebuked him, “do be serious.”
“I am serious.” He turned and faced her, sadly and gravely, far the more troubled of the two.
And she took a step towards him, and spoke clearly. “But why suppose such a thing? You would never refuse your consent to my marrying Hugh. You have loved him better than any one else in the world—except me—always since they came. Why, it has been almost as if he were your very own son.”
Her words affected him keenly. It was with a stern effort that he kept traces of his emotion from his voice. “But, if I didn’t approve?” he insisted.
Helen looked at him with startled eyes, realizing for the first time that he was serious. “You mean—you mean—you don’t!”
“Yes,” he told her.