With the license of long familiarity, Donald knocked at the front door
of the Brent cottage to announce his arrival; then, without awaiting
permission to enter, he opened the door and met Nan in the tiny hall
hurrying to admit him.
"You--Donald!" she reproved him. "What are you doing here? You
shouldn't be out."
"That's why I came in," he retorted drily and kissed her. "And I'm
here because I couldn't stand The Dreamerie another instant. I wanted
my mother and sisters to call on you and thank you for having been so
nice to me during my illness, but the idea wasn't received, very
enthusiastically. So, for the sheer sake of doing the decent thing
I've called myself. It might please you," he added, "to know that my
father thought I should."
"He is always tactful and kind," she agreed.
She led him to her father's old easy chair in the living room.
"As Dirty Dan O'Leary once remarked in my presence," he began, "it is
a long lane that hasn't got a saloon at the end of it. I will first
light a cigarette, if I may, and make myself comfortable, before
putting you on the witness stand and subjecting you to a severe
cross-examination. Seat yourself on that little hassock before me and
in such a position that I can look squarely into your face and note
flush of guilt when you fib to me."
She obeyed, with some slight inward trepidation, and sat looking up
at him demurely.
"Nan," he began, "did anybody ever suggest to you that the sporty
thing for you to do would be to run away and hide where I could never
find you?"
She shook her head.
"Did anybody ever suggest to you that the sporty thing for you to do
would be to return to Port Agnew from your involuntary exile and
inspire me with some enthusiasm for life?"
His keen perception did not fail to interpret the slight flush of
embarrassment that suffused Nan's face. "I object to that question,
your honor," she replied with cleverly simulated gaiety, "on the
ground that to do so would necessitate the violation of a confidence."
"The objection is sustained by the court. Did my father or Andrew
Daney, acting for him, ever offer you any sum of money as a bribe for
disappearing out of my life?"
"No. Your father offered to be very, very kind to me the morning I was
leaving. We met at the railroad station and his offer was made _after_
I informed him that I was leaving Port Agnew forever--and why. So I
know he made the offer just because he wanted to be kind--because he
is kind."
"Neither he nor Daney communicated with you in anyway following your
departure from Port Agnew?"
"They did not."
"Before leaving New York or immediately after your return to Port
Agnew, did you enter into verbal agreement with any member of my
family or their representative to nurse me back to health and then
jilt me?"
"I did not. The morning I appeared at the hospital your father,
remembering my statement to him the morning I fled from Port Agnew,
suspected that I had had a change of heart. He said to me: 'So this is
your idea of playing the game, is it?' I assured him then that I had
not returned to Port Agnew with the intention of marrying you, but
merely to stiffen your morale, as it were. He seemed quite satisfied
with my explanation, which I gave him in absolute good faith."
"Did he ever question you as to how you ascertained I was ill?"
"No. While I cannot explain my impression, I gathered at the time that
he knew."
"He credited Andrew Daney with that philanthropic job, Nan. He does
not know that my mother communicated with you."
"Neither do you, Donald. I have not told you she did."
"I am not such a stupid fellow as to believe you would ever tell me
anything that might hurt me, Nan. One does not relish the information
that one's mother has not exhibited the sort of delicacy one expects
of one's mother," he added bluntly.
"It is not nice of you to say that, Donald. How do you know that Mr.
Daney did not send for me?"
He smiled tolerantly. "Before Daney would dare do that he would
consult with my father, and if my father had consented to it he would
never have left to Daney the task of requesting such a tremendous
favor of you for his account. If Daney ever consulted my father as to
the advisability of such a course, my father refused to consider it."
"What makes you think so, old smarty?"
"Well, I know my father's code. He had no hesitancy in permitting you
to know that you were not welcome as a prospective daughter-in-law,
although he was not so rude as to tell you why. He left that to your
imagination. Now, for my father to ask a favor of anybody is very
unusual. He has a motto that a favor accepted is a debt incurred, and
he dislikes those perennial debts. My father is a trader, my dear. If
he had, directly or indirectly, been responsible for your return to
Port Agnew for the purpose of saving his son's life, he would not
be--well, he just wouldn't do it," he explained with some
embarrassment. "He couldn't do it. He would say to you, 'My son is
dying because he finds life uninteresting without you. If you return,
your presence will stimulate in him a renewed interest in life and he
will, in all probability, survive. If you are good enough to save my
son from death you are good enough to share his life, and although
this wedding is about going to kill me, nevertheless we will pull it
off and make believe we like it.'"
"Nonsense," she retorted.
"Knowing how my father would act under such circumstances, I was
dumfounded when he informed me this afternoon that you had agreed to
perform under false pretenses. He was quite certain you would proceed
to jilt me, now that I am strong enough to stand it. He said you had
promised him you would."
"I did not promise him. I merely told him truthfully what my firm
intention was at the time he demanded to be informed as to the nature
of my intentions. I reserved my woman's right to change my mind."
"Oh!"
"Had I made your father a definite promise I would have kept it. If I
were a party to such a contract with your father, Donald dear, all of
your pleading to induce me to break it would be in vain."
"A contract without a consideration is void in law," he reminded her.
"Dad just figured he could bank on your love for me. He did you the
honor to think it was so strong and wonderful that death would be a
delirious delight to you in preference to spoiling my career by
marrying me--well--Elizabeth disillusioned him!"
Nan's eyebrows lifted perceptibly.
"She informed my father in my presence," Donald continued, "that you
had had a change of heart; that you were now resolved to accept me
should I again ask you to marry me. It appears you had told Andrew
Daney this--in cold blood as it were. So Dad went to the telephone and
verified this report by Daney; then we had a grand show-down and I was
definitely given my choice of habitation--The Dreamerie or the Sawdust
Pile. Father, Mother, Elizabeth and Jane; jointly and severally
assured me that they would never receive you, so Nan, dear, it appears
that I will have to pay rather a heavy price for the privilege of
marrying you--"
"I have never told you I would marry you," she cried sharply.
"Yes, you did. That day in the hospital."
"That was a very necessary fib and you should not hold it against me.
It was a promise absolutely not made in good faith."
"But did you tell Daney that you would accept me if I should ask you
again to marry me?"