even his heavy
heart could not now subdue.

"You've--you've--chosen the Sawdust Pile?" she cried incredulously.

"How else would a man of spirit choose, old shipmate?"

"But you're not marrying me to save me from poverty, Donald? You must
be certain you aren't mistaking for love the sympathy which rises so
naturally in that big heart of yours. If it's only a great pity--if
it's only the protective instinct--"

"Hush! It's all of that and then some. I'm a man grown beyond the
puppy-love stage, my dear--and the McKayes are not an impulsive race.
We count the costs carefully and take careful note of the potential
profits. And while I could grant my people the right to make hash of
my happiness I must, for some inexplicable reason, deny them the
privilege of doing it with yours. I think I can make you happy, Nan;
not so happy, perhaps, that the shadow of your sorrow will not fall
across your life occasionally, but so much happier than you are at
present that the experiment seems worth trying, even at the expense of
sacrificing the worldly pride of my people."

"Are you entertaining a strong hope that after you marry me, dear,
your people will forgive you, make the best of what they consider a
bad bargain and acknowledge me after a fashion? Do you think they will
let bygones be bygones and take me to their hearts--for your sake?"

"I entertain no such silly illusion. Under no circumstances will they
ever acknowledge you after a fashion, for the very sufficient reason
that the opportunity to be martyrs will never be accorded my mother
and sisters by yours truly, Donald McKaye, late Laird apparent of Port
Agnew. Bless, your sweet soul, Nan, I have some pride, you know. I
wouldn't permit them to tolerate you. I prefer open warfare every
time."

"Have you broken with your people, dear?"

"Yes, but they do not know it yet. I didn't have the heart to raise a
scene, so I merely gave the old pater a hug, kissed mother and the
girls and came away. I'm not going back."

"You will--if I refuse to marry you?"

"I do not anticipate such a refusal. However, it Hoes not enter into
the matter at all in so far as my decision to quit The Dreamerie is
concerned. I'm through! Listen, Nan. I could win my father to you--win
him wholeheartedly and without reservation--if I should inform him
that my mother asked you to come back to Port Agnew. My mother and the
girls have not told him of this and I suspect they have encouraged his
ass