"Yes; I love her," Donald maintained manfully. "I have loved her for years—since I was a boy of sixteen,—only, I didn't realize it until my return to Port Agnew. I can't very well help loving Nan, can I, dad?"
To his amazement, his father smiled at him sympathetically.
"No; I do not see how you could very well help yourself, son," he replied. "She's an extraordinary young woman. After my brief and accidental interview with her recently, I made up my mind that there would be something radically wrong with you if you didn't fall in love with her."
His son grinned back at him.
"Proceed, old lumberjack!" he begged. "Your candor is soothing to my bruised spirit."
"No; you cannot help loving her, I suppose. Since you admit being in love with her, the fact admits of no argument. It has happened, and I do not condemn you for it. Both of you have merely demonstrated in the natural, human way that you are natural human beings. And I'm grateful to Nan for loving you. I think I should have resented her not doing so, for it would demonstrate her total lack of taste and appreciation of my son. She informed me, in so many words, that she wouldn't marry you."
"Nan has the capacity, somewhat rare in a woman, of keeping her own counsel. That is news to me, dad. However, if you had waited about two minutes, I would have informed you that I do not intend to marry Nan—" He paused for an infinitesimal space and added, "yet."
The Laird elevated his eyebrows.
"'Yet?'" he repeated.
Donald flushed a little as he reiterated his statement with an emphatic nod.