Bowdoin the younger. "I'm sure she could not have a kinder husband. But"—
"Don't explain, Mr. James."
"But—after all, why not ask her?"
"Nay, nay," said Jamie, "I'll not ask the child. I would not have her make a mistake, as I see it would be."
"But, Jamie," said Mr. James kindly, "what will you do? She can hardly go on living in your home."
"Not in my home? Where else has the child a home?"
There are certain male natures that fight crying. An enemy who looks straight at you with tears in his eyes is not to be contended with. And Jamie stood there, blushing fiery red, with flashing eyes, and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"James Bowdoin, you're a d—d fool!" sputtered his irate sire. "You talk as your wife might talk. This is an affair of men. Jamie," he added very gently, "you are quite right. My boy's an ass." He put his hand on Jamie's shoulder. "You'll find some fine young fellow to marry her yet, and she'll bring you—grandchildren."
