Atlantic Narratives

ivel-chair about, bit hard on the end o

e said abruptly.

ot so much at the words

th Lannithorne,' he

re a rank outsider, some detached person whose doings were to be scrutinized coldly and critically, and judged on their merits. It is a hard hour for a beloved child when he f

you? Well, now what is there in the idea of marrying a

d up, and is paying the price besides. But I don't know that there's any use saying that. I don't want to marry any of their daughters-and you wouldn't want me to. You know what Ruth Lannithorne is as well as I do. If there's a

ng a good argument with no mushiness about it, and he ha

oes she? Then what does s

anybody who doesn't respec

vely. He looked past Oliver's handsome, boyish head, out of the window

heritance you've given your children. You don't know it yet, but the thing that's laid on men and women to do is to give their children as good an inheritance as they can. Take it from me that this is Gospel truth, can't you? Your mother and I have done the best we can for you and your sisters. You come from good stock, and by that I mean honest blood. You've got to pass it on untainted. Now-hold on!' he held up a warning hand as Oliver was about to interrupt hotly. 'Wait till I'm through-and then think it over. I'm not saying that Peter Lannithorne's blood isn't as good as much that passes for untainted, or that Rut

r thought of things like this. He made no

a man is Peter

fort, and he paid the other money back; but they concluded to make an example of him, so they sent him up. It was just, yes, and he said so himself. At the same time there are a great many more dishonest men out of prison than Peter Lannithorne, though he is in it. I meet 'em every day, and I ought to know. But that's not the point. As you said yourself, you don't want to marry their

the

, Ol

there any men in the world who haven't given way at le

he was being pushed too far. Oliver Pickersgill Senior c

. I don't. I won'

l, t

rgument. We'll never get anywhere, arguing along those lines. I'll propose something else. Suppose you go ask Peter Lannithorne whether you shall marry his

r, looked simple, and easy, and happy, were going to prove quite otherwise. Mrs. Lannithorne had angered rather than frightened him, and he had held his own with her; but this was his very own father who was piling the load on his shoulders and filling hi

the step of an older man, but at the

y,

, Ol

ppy times for married people, ever? You and Mrs. Lannithorne make me feel there aren't; but somehow I

Ah, those broad young shoulders that must be fitted to the yoke! Yet for

ile that is. But there are compensations. You'll see