Gilder persisted, however, in trying to evade the integral fact
of his son's feeling. Still he tried to fix the issue on the
known unsavory reputation of the woman.
"You want to stay married to this jail-bird!" he stormed.
A gust of fury swept the boy. He loved the woman, in spite of
all; he respected her, even reverenced her. To hear her thus
named moved him to a rage almost beyond his control. But he
mastered himself. He remembered that the man who spoke loved
him; he remembered, too, that the word of opprobrium was no more
than the truth, however offensive it might be to his
sensitiveness. He waited a moment until he could hold his voice
even. Then his words were the sternest protest that could have
been uttered, though they came from no exercise of thought, only
out of the deeps of his heart.
"I'm very fond of her."
That was all. But the simple sincerity of the saying griped the
father's mood, as no argument could have done. There was a
little silence. After all, what could meet such loving loyalty?
When at last he spoke, Gilder's voice was subdued, a little
husky.
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