}

"Father--?"

"Yes, Ollie."

"Father, see here. He was weak and gave way--_once_! Are there any men
in the world who have n't given way at least _once_ about something or
other?--are there, father?"

There was a note of anguish in the boy's voice. Perhaps he was being
pushed too far. Oliver Pickersgill Senior cleared his throat, paused,
and at last answered somberly,--

"God knows, Ollie. I don't. I won't say there are."

"Well, then--"

"See here!" his father interrupted sharply. "Of course I see your
argument. I won't meet it. I shan't try. It doesn't change my mind
even if it is a good argument. We'll never get anywhere, arguing along
those lines. I'll propose something else. Suppose {31} you go ask
Peter Lannithorne whether you shall marry his daughter or not. Yes,
ask him. He knows what's what as well as the next man. Ask Peter
Lannithorne what a man wants in the family of the woman he marries."

There was a note of finality in the older man's voice. Ollie
recognized it drearily. All roads led to Lannithorne, it seemed. He
rose, oppressed with the sense that henceforward life was going to be
full of unforeseen problems; that things which, from afar, looked
simple, and easy, and happy, were going to prove quite otherwise. Mrs.
Lannithorne had angered rather than frightened him, and he had held
his own with her, but this was his very own father who was piling the
load on his shoulders and filling his heart with terror of the future.
What was it, after all, this adventure of the married life {32}
whereof these seasoned travelers spoke so dubiously? Could it really
be that it was not the divine thing it seemed when he and Ruth looked
into each other's eyes?

He crossed the floor dejectedly, with the step of an older man, but at
the door he shook himself and looked back.

"Say, dad!"

"Yes, Ollie."

"Everybody is so terribly depressing about this thing, it almost
scares me. Aren't there really any happy times for married people,
ever? You and Mrs. Lannithorne make me feel there are n't; but somehow
I have a hunch that Ruth and I know best! Own up now! Are you and
mother miserable? You never looked it!"

His father surveyed him with an expression too wistful to be
complacent. {33} Ah, those broad young shoulders that must be fitted
to the yoke! Yet for what other end was their strength given them?
Each man must take his turn.

"It's not a soft snap. I don't know anything worth while that is. But
th