“Marriage is a final sort of thing, Claude,” said Mr. Royce.  He sat slumping in his seat, watching the road ahead of him with intense abstraction, looking more gloomy and grizzled than usual.  “Enid is a vegetarian, you know,” he remarked unexpectedly.

Claude smiled.  “That could hardly make any difference to me, Mr. Royce.”

The other nodded slightly.  “I know.  At your age you think it doesn’t.  Such things do make a difference, however.”  His lips closed over his half-dead cigar, and for some time he did not open them.

“Enid is a good girl,” he said at last.  “Strictly speaking, she has more brains than a girl needs.  If Mrs. Royce had another daughter at home, I’d take Enid into my office.  She has good judgment.  I don’t know but she’d run a business better than a house.”  Having got this out, Mr. Royce relaxed his frown, took his cigar from his mouth, looked at it, and put it back between his teeth without relighting it.

Claude was watching him with surprise.  “There’s no question about Enid, Mr. Royce.  I didn’t come to ask you about her,” he exclaimed.  “I came to ask if you’d be willing to have me for a son-in-law.  I know, and you know, that Enid could do a great deal better than to marry me.  I surely haven’t made much of a showing, so far.”

“Here we are,” announced Mr. Royce.  “I’ll leave the car under this elm, and we’ll go up to the north end of the field and have a look.”

They crawled under the wire fence and started across the rough ground through a field of purple blossoms.  Clouds of yellow butterflies darted up before them.  They walked jerkily, breaking through the sun-baked crust into the soft soil beneath.  Mr. Royce lit a fresh cigar, and as he threw away the match let his hand drop on the young man’s shoulder.  “I always envied your father.  You took my fancy when you were a little shaver, and I used to let you in to see the water-wheel.  When I gave up water power and put in an engine, I said to myself:  ’There’s just one fellow in the country will be sorry to see the old wheel go, and that’s Claude Wheeler.’”

“I hope you don’t think I’m too young to marry,” Claude said as they tramped on.

“No, it’s right and proper a young man should marry.  I don’t say anything against marriage,” Mr. Royce protested doggedly.  “You may find some opposition in Enid’s missionary motives.  I don’t know how she feels about that now.  I don’t enquire.  I’d be pleased to see her get rid of such notions.  They don’t do a woman any good.”

“I want to help her get rid of them.  If it’s all right with you, I hope I can persuade Enid to marry me this fall.”

Jason Royce turned his head quickly toward his companion, studied his artless, hopeful countenance for a moment, and then looked away with a frown.