It was the first time he had referred to the matter. His voice was a little husky as he asked the question—it seemed to be a liberty that he was taking with Raine. He looked up at him deprecatingly, touching the hand that was on his shoulder.
“Don't think me an inquisitive old man,” he added, smiling to meet the affectionate look on his son's face.
“Yes, I am attracted—very much,” said Raine. “More than I had conceived possible.”
“I am so glad—she too is drawn to you, Raine.”
“I think so too—sometimes. At others she baffles me.”
“You would like to know for certain?”
“Of course,” said Raine with a laugh. There seemed a humorous side to the discussion. The loved old face wore an expression of such concern.
“Then, Raine—if you really love her—I can tell you—she has given you her heart, my son. I had it from her own lips.”
The laugh died away from Raine's eyes. With a quick movement, he came from behind his father and stood facing him, his brows knitted.
“What do you mean, father?” he asked very earnestly.