"Well, Caleb, your worries are unnecessary. I feel it my duty to tell you that I love Nan; she loves me, and we have told each other so. She shall not suffer when you are gone. She has indicated to me that, some day, this—this mess may be cleared up; and when that happens, I shall marry Nan."
"So Nan told me this morning. I was wondering if you'd speak to me about it, and I'm glad you have done so—promptly. You—you—honor us, Mr. Donald; you do, indeed. You're the one man in the world I can trust her with, whether as good friend or husband—only, her hushand you'll never be."
"I see breakers ahead," Donald admitted. He had no desire to dissemble with this straightforward old father.
"We're poor folk and plain, but—please God!—we're decent and we know our place, Mr. Donald. If your big heart tells you to dishonor yourself in the eyes of your world and your people—mark you, lad, I do not admit that an alliance with my girl could ever dishonor you in your own eyes—Nan will not be weak enough to permit it."
"I have argued all that out with myself," Donald confessed miserably, "without having arrived at a conclusion. I have made up my mind to wait patiently and see what the future may bring forth."
"It may be a long wait."
"It will be worth while. And when you have sailed, I'll finance her to leave Port Agnew and develop her glorious voice."
"You haven't the right, Mr. Donald. My girl has some pride."
"I'll gamble a sizable sum on her artistic future. The matter will be arranged on a business basis. I shall lend her the money, and she shall pay me back with interest."
"Nan has a woman's pride. The obligation would remain always, even though the money should be repaid."