, still with the air of
being master of the house, and Rose stood with downcast eyes, as if
miserably conscious that the interview would concern her. Inside the
west room, cool in the morning, and with a restful bareness about it, a
retreat where people went to sleep or read, Osmond turned at once to the
man whom, at that moment, he delighted in as a worthy foe. Osmond had
never known before the keen, salt taste of victory. All his triumphs up
to this time had been as slow as the growth of a tree that recovers
itself after lopped branches. Now he felt the anticipation of combat.

"We needn't sit down," he said rapidly, yet with self-possession. He
looked taller, even, MacLeod thought with wonder. His dark eyes were
full of fire. "I love your daughter," said Osmond, in a full, steady
voice. He chose the words the poets had taught him to use simply, and
also, perhaps, the novels he had been reading since he had known Rose.

"My dear fellow!" cried MacLeod expansively. And then, remembering the
peculiar circumstances of the case, "I'm sorry, devilish sorry for you."

Osmond smiled. He felt capable, if there were no other way of doing it,
of wresting the lady's fate from evil chances with his hands. Yet he
liked MacLeod to resist. It made the fight more splendid.

"She must not go back with you," he said. "You are not to insist on it.
Don't insist. That will save us all trouble."

MacLeod had gathered himself together. He put his hand in his pocket and
meditatively brought out his pipe, fingering the case with an absent and
lingering interest, as if he felt the call to a lost rite.

"My dear fellow," he said again, "this is too bad. I'm sorry."

"Rose will remain here," said Osmond briefly. "My grandmother will take
the kindest care of her."

"But I can't allow it, you know," said the father, still with tolerance.
"Rose is due in Paris. We're both due there. It's very good of you, very
hospitable and all that,--but you mustn't carry this Lochinvar business
too far. It's too rapid a world, you know. I'm too busy, my dear fellow.
That's the truth."

Osmond stood gazing at him reflectively, not in doubt or hesitation, but
because he liked the look of so big an animal, and considering that it
would be charming to see the creature yield. Osmond had not sharpened
his weapons or even decided what they were. He only knew MacLeod must
bend, and that there was in himself a big, even an invincible force to
make him.

"Rose