Edith Atherton stared at him and dropped her eyes.
"How is your father?" she asked irrelevantly. "He was a very nice old man."
"So he is," replied Gardiner, "the only trouble was that he believed he owned me. He came from the South, and was one of the few Southerners, who, on losing their slaves, played their own game on the men from the North. He and I quarrelled about a subject in which I considered he had no right to interfere."
There were no obvious implications in the way he spoke, and Edith Atherton saw none.
"What was that?" she asked, innocently enough.
"His view was that I shouldn't marry until he let me. I wanted to marry you."
Edith gasped a little and took hold of her chair as she bent forward.
"Indeed, Mr. Gardiner."
"And I still want to, Miss Atherton. And as the lady whom he wished me to marry was married a month ago, I think he will forgive me, if I ask him. It was always understood, even when we parted, that he would reinstate me as his partner if I succeeded for myself."
"And have you succeeded?" asked Edith with bent head.