"I saw you, and any one more palpably sentimental I never did see."
"Well, what of it? It isn't a crime, I suppose—"
"That depends," Flint answered dryly.
Brady shook off his hand. "What do you mean by that?" he asked angrily.
"I mean," said Flint, folding his arms and looking at his friend steadily, "that you have come to the cross-roads. You cannot go on as you are. You must either give up hanging about Nora Costello, or you must make up your mind to marry her."
"And why not, pray, if I could induce her to accept me?"
"Great Heavens!" cried Flint; "has it gone so far as that?"
"Yes, it has," answered Brady, as defiantly as though Flint had represented his whole family circle; "and if she will marry me I shall be a proud and happy man."
"And your relatives,—the Bradfords and Standishes and all?"