Thorn spread out his hands.  “You don’t understand.  I’m not looking for a wife!  I love her, and if she cannot be persuaded, will never marry anybody else.”  He paused and resumed with some emotion:  “I know the shabbiness of using this opportunity; but it’s the last I’ll get.  I don’t want to work on her gratitude, but I see no other plan.  I would like to be generous—­but I can’t let her go.”

“Yet you seem to realize that she does not like you.”

“She will get over that.  Her likes and dislikes haven’t yet hardened into their final mold.  She’s impulsive and generous; I can win her by patience and kindness.”

“It is a rash experiment.  If you are disappointed, Grace would have to pay.”

Thorn was silent for a few moments.  He had talked with sincere passion, but now began to think.  Osborn’s firmness was something of a surprise; Thorn had not expected he would weigh his daughter’s feelings against the danger that threatened his house.  His opposition must be broken down.

“I had hoped for your consent,” he said and his face got hard.  “To some extent, I took it for granted.”

Osborn’s head sunk forward.  He had struggled, but saw that he was beaten.  To beg would be useless and he could not fight.  Pulling himself together with an effort, he looked up.

“You mean you knew I could not refuse?”

“Yes,” said Thorn, awkwardly, “I suppose I do mean something like that.”

Osborn gave him a long, steady look.  Thorn’s face was set and his mouth was firm.  There was no hint of yielding and Osborn got up.  “Very well; I must tell my wife.”

He rang a bell and a minute or two afterwards Mrs. Osborn came in.  She sat down and Osborn stood opposite.

“Alan has done us the honor of asking my consent to his marrying Grace,” he said, with ironical formality.  “If we approve, he is willing to help Gerald.”  He turned to Thorn.  “I think I have stated your terms?”

Thorn colored as he saw that Mrs. Osborn’s eyes were fixed on him.  “You exaggerate.  I am willing to do you a service that nobody else can render and think I’m justified in counting on your gratitude.”

“Very well,” said Osborn.  “I don’t see much difference, except that you want to save our pride.”  He paused and looked at his wife.  “You know Grace best.  Will she consent?”

Something in his manner moved Mrs. Osborn.  It was long since he had asked what she thought, and she felt encouraged.  Besides, now the crisis had come, her irresolution had vanished.  She had thrown off her reserve and meant to defend her daughter.

“No,” she said, with a determined note in her quiet voice.  “Even if she were willing, I should protest.  The fault is Gerald’s and he must suffer.”

Osborn felt some surprise, but his humiliation had made him gentle.  “Gerald cannot suffer alone.  His disgrace will reflect upon us all and if he has a son it will follow him.  We have been reckless and extravagant, but we have kept our good name and now, when it is all that is left us, it must be protected.”