“I've had ever since Class Day to think it over, and it—came to a climax yesterday.”
“And then you stopped thinking,” said his father—to gain time, it appeared to Dan.
“Yes, sir,” said Dan. “I haven't thought since.”
“Well,” said his father, with an amusement which was not unfriendly. He added, after a moment, “But I thought that had been broken off,” and Dan's instinct penetrated to the lurking fact that his father must have talked the rupture over with his mother, and not wholly regretted it.
“There was a kind of—hitch at one time,” he admitted; “but it's all right now.”
“Well, well,” said his father, “this is great news—great news,” and he seemed to be shaping himself to the new posture of affairs, while giving it a conditional recognition. “She's a beautiful creature.”
“Isn't she?” cried Dan, with a little break in his voice, for he had found his father's manner rather trying. “And she's good too. I assure you that she is—she is simply perfect every way.”
“Well,” said the elder Mavering, rising and pulling down the rolling top of his desk, “I'm glad to hear it, for your sake, Dan. Have you been up at the house yet?”
“No; I'm just off the train.”
“How is her mother—how is Mrs. Pasmer? All well?”