ow it, sooner or
later--and she promised me she wouldn't."

The young Laird's face paled a little but he maintained his
composure. "I greatly fear you misunderstood her, father," he replied
gently. "She promised me she'd marry me. You see," he added looking
the old man resolutely in the face, "I think she's virtuous, so I'm
going to marry her."

His father smiled sadly. "Poor lad. God knows I'm sorry for you,
but--well, go see her and let's have the issue settled once for all.
For God's sake, lad, grant me peace of mind. End it to-day, one way or
the other."

"Ah, yes, you're brave," Elizabeth flung at her father. "You're so
certain that girl will keep her promise, aren't you? Well, I happen to
have been informed, on very good authority, that she intends to betray
you. She had made the statement that she'll marry Donald if he asks
her--again."

"The girl doesn't impress me as one who would lie, Elizabeth. Who told
you this?"

"Andrew Daney."

"Bear with me a moment, son, till I call Andrew on the telephone," the
Laird requested, and went into the telephone booth under the stairs in
the reception hall. When he emerged a few minutes later his face was
pale and haggard.

"Well? What did I tell you?" Elizabeth's voice was triumphant.

Her father ignored her. Placing himself squarely before his son, he
bent forward slightly and thrust his aggressive face close to
Donald's. "I command you to respect the honor of my house," he cried
furiously. "For the last time, Donald McKaye, ha' done wie this woman,
or--" and his great arm was outflung in a swooping gesture that
denoted all too forcibly the terrible sentence he shrank from
speaking.

"Are you offering me an alternative?" Donald's voice was low and very
calm, but his brown eyes were blazing with suppressed rage. "The
Dreamerie or--" and he swung and pointed to the Brent cottage far
below them on the Sawdust Pile.

"Aye," his father cried in a hard cracked voice. "Aye!"

Donald looked over at his mother with the helplessness of a child who
has fallen and hurt himself. "And you, mother? What do you say to
this?"

She thought she would faint. "You--you must obey your father," she
quavered. Until her son should marry Nan Brent she could not force
herself to the belief that he could possibly commit such an incredible
offense.

"The opinions of you and Jane," Donald continued, turning to each
sister in turn, "do not interest me particularly, but while the polls