of
putting it.

"He's full of--of the milk of human kindness, is my father," he said,
with a touch of simplicity which was one of the thousand and fifteen
reasons why Ida loved him.

She gazed up at him thoughtfully and sighed.

"I hope he will like me," she said, all the pride which usually
characterized her melted by her love. "I am sure that I shall like
him--for loving you."

"You will see," said Stafford, confidently. "He will be as proud as a
duke about you. You won't mind if he shows it a little plainly and
makes a little fuss, Ida? He's--well, he's used to making the most of a
good thing when he has it--it's the life he has led which has rather
got him into the way of blowing a trumpet, you know--and he'll want a
whole orchestra to announce you. But about your father, dearest? Shall
I come to-morrow and ask for his consent?"

She looked up at him with doubt and a faint trouble in her beautiful
eyes, and he heard her sigh regretfully.

"I am afraid," she said, in a low voice.

"Afraid?" He looked at her with a smile of surprise. "If anyone were to
tell me that it was possible for you to be afraid, I shouldn't believe
them," he said. "Fear and you haven't made acquaintance yet, Ida!"

She shook her head.

"I am so happy, so intensely happy, that I am afraid lest the gods
should be jealous and snatch my happiness from me. I am afraid that if
you come to-morrow, my father will say 'No,' will--"

--"Will have me shown out," said Stafford, gravely. "I see. I shouldn't
be surprised."

"And--and then I should not be able to see you again."

He laughed at the idea.

"My dearest, if all the fathers in the world said 'No,' it wouldn't
make any difference to me," he said, with that air of masterfulness,
that flash of the eye which a woman loves in a man. "Do you think I
should give you up, that I should be content to say, 'I'm very sorry,
sir,' and go off--leave you--keep away from you!" He laughed again,
and she nestled a little closer, and her small hand closed a little more
tightly on his arm. "And you wouldn't give me up, refuse to see me,
even if your father withheld his consent, would you, Ida?" he asked.

She looked straight before her dreamily. Then raised her eyes to his
gravely.

"No; I could not. It is just that. I could not. Somehow I feel as if I
had given you the right to myself and that nothing could alter it,
nothing could take me away from you!"

How was it possible for him to refrain