"Conditions? How does he dare enforce conditions? What were they?"
"That I must avow my love for Zeb—Mr. Sawyer."
"Well, is that all?"
"All! Isn't it enough?"
"You can do that, my daughter," Mrs. McElwin said meekly.
"Yes, I could, if the time should ever come."
"What time?" the banker asked.
"The time when I can say that I love him."
McElwin crossed his legs with a sudden flounce. "You put too serious an estimate upon love," he said. "You expect it to be the grand, over-mastering passion we read about. That was all well enough for the age of poetry, but this is the age of prose. You can go to that man and tell him that—"
"That I have a Nineteenth century love for Mr. Sawyer," she interrupted.