"So that's it,
is it? It's your father's idea that I ought to go into business and
that you oughtn't to be engaged to me until I do."
Lucy gave a start, her denial was so quick. "No! I've never once
spoken to him about it. Never!"
George looked at her keenly, and he jumped to a conclusion not far
from the truth. "But you know without talking to him that it's the
way he does feel about it? I see."
She nodded gravely. "Yes."
George's brow grew darker still. "Do you think I'd be much of a man,"
he said, slowly, "if I let any other man dictate to me my own way of
life?"
"George! Who's 'dictating' your--"
"It seems to me it amounts to that!" he returned.
"Oh, no! I only know how papa thinks about things. He's never, never
spoken unkindly, or 'dictatingly' of you." She lifted her hand in
protest, and her face was so touching in its distress that for the
moment George forgot his anger. He seized that small, troubled hand.
"Lucy," he said huskily. "Don't you know that I love you?"
"Yes--I do.
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