"Do you mean," asked Stainton, "that Miss Stannard's guardians will object?"
"Hardly. Her guardians are the Newberrys."
Holt interpreted.
"I mean," he said, "that you won't be happy with a child for a wife, and that a child won't be happy with you for a husband."
Stainton started to rise from the table. Then he seemed to think better, seemed to recall his old and brief, but firm, friendship with the Holt of Holt's western days, and sat back in his chair.
"Jim," continued Holt, "you're actually in earnest about all this marrying-talk, aren't you?"
"So much so," replied Stainton, frowning, "that I don't care to have you refer to it in that way."
"Oh, all right. I beg pardon. I didn't intend to make you sore. Only it won't do, you know. Really."
"Why not?"