“Thank you,” he said; “I believe I shall come in here for a few minutes.”
He passed by the clerk and seated himself in a deep, cane-bottomed chair near the window. He fumbled for the cord of his glasses in a slightly nervous manner, and adjusted them hastily. The missive was addressed to him, certainly; and with no little wonder he tore it open and read:--
MY DEAR SIR,--Pardon the hurried nature of this communication, but I must leave shortly on the in-coming train, having an important operation to undertake this morning; otherwise I should have liked to prepare you more fully, but time presses. Simply, then, I love your daughter. I told her so last night upon the river, and she has made me the proudest and happiest of men by returning my love. I am well aware what I am asking of you when I ask her of you to be my wife. You know me personally; you know my financial standing; I trust to you to remember my failings with mercy in the knowledge of our great love. Till Monday night, then, I leave her and my happiness to your consideration and love.
The clerk standing near him in the doorway turned hurriedly.
“Any trouble?” he asked, moving toward him and noticing the ashy pallor of his face.
The old man’s hand closed spasmodically over the paper.
“Nothing,” he managed to answer, waving the man away; “don’t notice me.”
The clerk, seeing his presence was undesirable, took up his position in the doorway again.
Levice sat on. No further sound broke from him; he had clinched his teeth hard. It had come to this, then. She loved him; it was too late. If the man’s heart alone were concerned, it would have been an easy matter; but hers, Ruth’s. God! If she really loved, her father knew only too well how she would love. Was the man crazy? Had he entirely forgotten the gulf that lay between them? Great drops of perspiration rose to his forehead. Two ideas held him in a desperate struggle,--his child’s happiness; the prejudice of a lifetime. Something conquered finally, and he arose quietly and walked slowly off.
Through the trees he heard laughter. He walked round and saw her swinging Will Tyrrell.
“There’s your father,” cried Boss, from the limb of a tree.
She looked up, startled. With a newborn shyness she had endeavored to put off this meeting with her father. She gave the swing another push and waited his approach with beating heart.