"You aren't worrying about him, are you—about Dreever? There's nothing to worry about. It'll be quite easy and simple. I'll tell him, if you like. He knows you don't care for him; and, besides, there's a girl in London that he—"
"No, no. It's not that."
"What is it, dear? What's troubling you?"
"Jimmy—" She stopped.
He waited.
"Yes?"
"Jimmy, my father wouldn't—father—father—doesn't—"
"Doesn't like me?"
She nodded miserably.
A great wave of relief swept over Jimmy. He had imagined—he hardly knew what he had imagined: some vast, insuperable obstacle; some tremendous catastrophe, whirling them asunder. He could have laughed aloud in his happiness. So, this was it, this was the cloud that brooded over them—that Mr. McEachern did not like him! The angel, guarding Eden with a fiery sword, had changed into a policeman with a truncheon.