"I can't give her up, father," he murmured. "By God, I can't!"
"There can be no happiness without honor, and you'll not be the first to make our name a jest in the mouths of Port Agnew. You will write her and tell her of my decision; if you do not wish to, then I shall do it for you. Trust her to understand and not hold it against you. And it is my wish that you should not see her again. She must be cared for, but when that time comes, I shall attend to it; you know me well enough to realize I'll do that well." He laid his hand tenderly on the young man's shoulder. "This is your first love, my son. Time and hard work will help you forget—and I'll wait for my grandson."
"And if I should not agree to this—what?"
"Obey me for a month—and then ask me that question if you will. I'm—I'm a bit unprepared for an answer on such short notice."
Donald bowed his head.
"Very well, sir. I'll think it over for a month—on one condition."
"Thank you, my son," said The Laird of Tyee. "And what is the condition?"
"Let mother and the girls go to Seattle or Honolulu or Shanghai or some other seaport—anywhere, provided they're not at The Dreamerie when I return to Port Agnew. I'm going to spend that damnable month in the woods, week-ends and all, and wrestle with this problem."
Old Hector smiled a small smile.
"I'm an old ass," he declared. "Have it your own way, only—by the gods, I ought to teach them sense. I've spoiled them, and I ought to unspoil them. They drive me crazy, much as I love them."