.

"If that old man is permitted to have his stubborn way, Donald McKaye
will die," she declared.

"So will old Hector. He'll be dead of a broken heart within the year."

"He's sacrificing his son to his Scotch pride. Now, his mother is far
more bitter against the girl than The Laird is; in her distress she
accuses the Brent girl of destroying her son. Nevertheless, Mrs.
McKaye's pride and resentment are not so intense that she will
sacrifice her son to them."

"Then give her this address," Daney suggested weakly, and handed it
over. "I'm caught between the upper and nether millstone, and I don't
care what happens to me. Damn the women, say I. Damn them! Damn them!
They're the ones that do all the talking, set up a cruel moral code,
and make a broad-minded, generous man follow it."

"Thanks for the compliment," the nurse retorted blithely. "If I had
time, I'd discuss the matter with you to your disadvantage, but,
fortunately, I have other fish to fry. My job is to keep Donald McKaye
alive for the next five or six days until Nan Brent can get here.
She'll come. I know she will. She'd lie down in the street and die for
him. I know it. I spent two days with her when her father was dead,
and let me tell you something, Mr. Daney: 'She's too good for them.
There! I feel better now.'"

"What a remarkable woman!" Mr. Daney reflected, as he walked back to
the mill office. "What a truly remarkable woman!" Then he remembered
the complications that were about to ensue, and to the wonderment of
several citizens of Port Agnew, he paused in front of the
post-office, threw both arms aloft in an agitated flourish, and cried
audibly:

"Hell's bells and panther-tracks! I'd give a ripe peach to be in hell
or some other seaport. O Lordy, Lordy, Lordy! And all the calves got
loose!"

XXX

As a wife, it is probable that Nellie McKaye had not been an
altogether unqualified success. She lacked tact, understanding and
sympathy where her husband was concerned; she was one of that numerous
type of wife who loses a great deal of interest in her husband after
their first child is born. The Laird's wife was normally intelligent,
peacefully inclined, extremely good-looking both as to face and
figure, despite her years, and always abnormally concerned over what
the most inconsequential people in the world might think of her and
hers. She had a passion for being socially "correct." Flights of
imagination were rarely hers; on the few