t you're not the sort of looking
chap I thought you'd be with that oily French name. You've shown good
judgment. There isn't a man in the world good enough for my Jo. And if
you'll excuse my frankness, I like your looks!"

As he spoke he held out a hand, and Josephine eagerly faced Philip. A
flush grew in her cheeks as the two men shook hands. Her eyes were on
Philip, and her heart beat a little quicker. She had not hoped that he
would rise to the situation so completely. She had feared that there
would be some betrayal in voice or action. But he was completely master
of himself, and the colour in her face deepened beautifully. Before
this moment she had not wholly perceived how splendidly clear and
fearless were his eyes. His long blond hair, touched with its premature
gray, was still windblown from his rush out into the night, giving to
his head a touch of leonine strength as he faced her father.

Quietly she slipped aside and looked at them, and neither saw the
strange, proud glow that came like a flash of fire into her eyes. They
were wonderful, these two strong men who were hers. And in this moment
they WERE her own. Neither spoke for a space, as they stood, hand
clasping hand, and in that space, brief as it was, she saw that they
measured each other as completely as man ever measured man; and that it
was not satisfaction alone, but something deeper and more wonderful to
her, that began to show in their faces. It was as if they had forgotten
her presence in this meeting, and for a moment she, too, forgot that
everything was not real. Moved by an impulse that made her breath
quicken, she darted to them and caught their two clasped hands in both
her own. Her face was glorious as she looked up at them.

"I'm glad, glad that you like each other," she cried softly. "I knew
that it would be so, because--"

The master of Adare House had drawn her to him again. She put out a
hand, and it rested on Philip's shoulder. Her eyes turned directly to
him, and he alone saw the swift ebbing of the joyous light from them.
John Adare's voice rumbled happily, and with his grizzled face bowed in
Josephine's hair he said:

"I guess I'm not sorry--but glad, Mignonne." He looked at Philip again.
"Paul, my son, you are welcome to Adare House!"

"Philip, Mon Pere," corrected Josephine. "I like that better than Paul."

"And you?" said Philip, smiling straight into Adare's eyes. "I am
almost afraid to keep my promise to Josephine. It w