y the window and when she came into the
room he sprang to his feet and came toward her. His face, or so it
seemed to her, showed some traces of the trouble and anxiety through
which he had passed so recently. He was a little thinner and he looked
less boyish. He held out his hands.

"Well, Mary," he cried, eagerly, "here I am. Aren't you glad to see me?"

He seized both her hands in his. She disengaged them gently. Her manner
seemed odd to him and he regarded her in a puzzled way.

"AREN'T you glad?" he repeated. "Why, Mary, what is the matter?"

She smiled sadly and shook her head. "Oh, Crawford," she said, "why did
you come? Or, at least, why didn't you write me you were coming?"

He laughed. "I didn't write," he answered, "because I was afraid if I
did you would write me not to come."

"I certainly should."

"Of course you would. So I took no chances but just came instead."

"But why did you come?"

"Why? To see you, of course."

"Oh, Crawford, please don't joke. You know I asked you not to come here.
When we last spoke together, over the telephone, I told you that if you
came here I should not see you. And yet you came."

His manner changed. He was serious enough now.

"I came," he said, "because--well, because I felt that I must. I had
many things to tell you, Mary, and something to ask. And I could
neither tell nor ask in a letter. Dad and I have quarreled--we've parted
company."

She had expected to hear it, but it shocked and grieved her,
nevertheless. She knew how he had loved his father.

"Sit down, Crawford," she said gently. "Sit down and tell me all about
it."

He told her. There was little more to tell than he had written. His
father had not become more reconciled to the idea of his marrying Mary.
Instead his opposition was just as violent and, to his son's mind, as
unreasonably absurd. Day after day Crawford waited, hoping that time
would bring a change or that his own arguments might have an effect, but
neither time nor argument softened Edwin Smith's obstinacy.

"He behaved like a madman at times," declared Crawford. "And at others
he would almost beg me on his knees to give you up. I asked him why. I
told him over and over again that he should be proud to have such a girl
for his daughter-in-law. I said everything I could. I told him I would
do anything for him--anything he asked--except give you up. That I would
not do. And it was the only thing he seemed to wish me to do. Talked
a