"Is it possible that you have forgotten?"
"Of course not," he said, softening. "Who is she?"
"A girl whose life has been a devotion—an angel."
"Bosh! That's all romance. Young man, this is Chicago, and Chicago is the material end—the culmination of the nineteenth century."
"And this girl is the culmination of purity and divine womanhood—of love!" He stopped short, looked at Witherspoon, and said: "If you say a word against her I will not go into the store—I'll set fire to it and burn it down."
They were in a far corner, and now, standing apart, were looking at each other. The young man's eyes snapped with anger.
"Come, don't fly off that way," said the merchant. "You may choose for yourself, of course. Oh, you've got some of the old man's pigheadedness, have you? All right; it will keep men from running over you."
He took Henry's arm, and they walked back toward the gate.
"I won't say anything to your mother about it."
"You may do as you like."