tiny cascades of sparks that were sucked glowing
into the black chimney throat.

"Perhaps no reason that would strike you as valid," he said slowly.
"Still--I don't know. Do you like him?"

"You won't answer my questions," Betty complained. "Why should I answer
yours?"

"There are plenty of nice young fellows in your own crowd," Gower went
on, still poking mechanically at the fire. "Why pick on young MacRae?"

"You're evading, daddy," Betty murmured. "Why _shouldn't_ I pick on
Jack MacRae if I like him--if he likes me? That's what I'm trying to
find out."

"Does he?" Gower asked pointblank.

"Yes," Betty admitted in a reluctant whisper. "He does--but--why don't
you tell me, daddy, what I'm up against, as you would say? What did you
ever do to old Donald MacRae that his son should have a feeling that is
stronger than love?"

"You think he loves you?"

"I know it," Betty murmured.

"And you?" Gower's deep voice seemed harsh.

Betty threw out her hands in an impatient gesture.

"Must I shout it out loud?" she cried.

"You always were different from most girls, in some things," Gower
observed reflectively. "Iron under your softness. I never knew you to
stop trying to get anything you really wanted, not while there was a
chance to get it. Still--don't you think it would be as well for you to
stop wanting young MacRae--since he doesn't want you bad enough to try
to get you? Eh?"

He still kept his face studiously averted. His tone was kind, full of a
peculiar tenderness that he kept for Betty alone.

She rose and perched herself on the arm of his chair, caught and drew
his head against her, forced him to look up into eyes preternaturally
bright.

"You don't seem to understand," she said. "It isn't that Jack doesn't
want me badly enough. He could have me, and I think he knows that too.
But there is something, something that drives him the other way. He
loves me. I know he does. And still he has spells of hating all us
Gowers--especially you. I know he wouldn't do that without reason."

"Doesn't he tell you the reason?"

Betty shook her head.

"Would I be asking you, daddy?"

"I can't tell you, either," Gower rumbled deep in his throat.

"Is it something that can't be mended?" Betty put her face down against
his, and he felt the tears wet on her cheek. "Think, daddy. I'm
beginning to be terribly unhappy."

"That seems to be a family failing," Gower muttered. "I can't mend it,
Betty. I don't know wh