good. Oh, ho, ho!" He took out his
handkerchief and rubbed his eyes. "Well, thank God, the girl's got more
wit nor you have. In the name of God, lad, what would you marry her
for?"

"Because I love her, father!"

"My backside to that for an answer!" Mr. Quinn snapped. "You know well
you couldn't marry her, a girl like that!"

"I don't know it at all!..."

"Well, I'll tell you why then. Because you're a gentleman an' she isn't
a lady, that's why. There's hundreds of years of breedin' in you, Henry,
an' there's no breedin' at all in her, nothin' but good nature an' good
looks!..."

"The Hamiltons have lived at their farm for more than a hundred and
fifty years, father!"

"So they have, an' decent, good stock they are, but that doesn't put
them on our level. Listen, Henry, the one thing that's most important in
this world is blood an' breedin'. There's people goes about the world
sayin' everybody's as good as everybody else, but you've only got to
see people when there's bother on to find out who's good an' who isn't.
It's at times like that that blood an' breedin' come out!..."

It was then that Henry told his father of his cowardice when the horse
ran away. He told the whole story, and insisted on Sheila's scorn for
him. Mr. Quinn did not speak while the story was being told. He sat at
the desk with his chin buried in his fingers, listening patiently. Once
or twice he looked up when Henry hesitated in his recital, and once he
seemed as if he were about to put out his hand to his son, but he did
not do so. He did not speak or move until the story was ended.

"I'm glad you told me, Henry," he said quietly when Henry had finished.
"I'm sorry I thought you were meanin' the girl an injury. I beg your
pardon for that, Henry. The girl's a decent girl, a well-meant girl ...
a well-meant girl!... I wish to God, you were at Trinity, my son! Come
on, now, an' have somethin' to ate. Begod, I'm hungry. I could ate a
horse. I could ate two horses!..." He put his arm in Henry's and they
left the library together. "You'll get over it, my son, you'll get over
it. It does a lad good to break his heart now an' again. Teaches him the
way the world works! Opens his mind for him, an' lets him get a notion
of the feel of things!..."

They were just outside the dining-room when he said that. Mr. Quinn
turned and looked at Henry for a second or two, and it seemed to Henry
that he was about to say something intimate to him, but he did