"
"You know what I mean very well, sir. I take it you are still decent,
and if you're decent you'll marry the girl you've beaued around for six
months--providing she'll have you. That was the style in my day--and
decency doesn't change much--at least, it ought not to."
Had it been the day before, Harlan Thornton would have declared to his
grandfather what his intentions were toward Madeleine Presson. The
thoughts of the past night's vigil came upon him now--he hesitated. He
was angry with himself--angry with this blunt and persistent old man. He
did not know whether resentment held him back from acknowledging that he
had been a suitor for the hand of Luke Presson's daughter or whether it
was the strange, new feeling toward Clare Kavanagh since he had learned
that her good name was in such piteous need of his protection and
defence.
"Have you asked her to marry you?" demanded the Duke.
"Yes, I have--that is--" he paused. His air irritated still more the
testy humor of the old man, plainly provoked by earlier matters.
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