“Then Gordon knows nothing of it?”
“Not a whittle, Miss Madelaine, not a whittle.”
The girl sat for a time in silence. Her emotions were resentful. They wanted to riot. Her lips twitched once or twice. Then came a saving sense of humor.
“Just why should I consider a marriage with your son, Mr. Ruggles? On what basis do you rear that contention?”
“I—er—I——”
Madelaine pitied his sudden distress. For the first time in his life Amos Ruggles appreciated that any reference to the Ruggles wealth would be crude and insulting, before such a woman as he confronted now.
“He’s a—he’s a—mighty fine boy, Miss Madelaine!” was the father’s compromise.
“I apologize if I seem rude, Mr. Ruggles. But that must remain a matter of opinion.”
“You mean—he isn’t a mighty fine boy?”
“Must we discuss him—his good points and his bad?”