John laughed. "I'm mighty glad it was!" said he. "Yes; that was it;
and it's all settled."

Mrs. Vanderlyn now rose in wrath. Was it credible that her own son,
whom she had reared, as she had thought, to worship all the things
she worshiped, wealth, position, rank, could have conceived an actual
affection for this penniless, positionless, impossible flute-player's
daughter?

"Settled that you marry her?" she cried. "The daughter of this old
musician? It's impossible! Impossible!"

Her son looked at her deprecatingly. There was not a sign of yielding
on his face, but there was plainly written there a keen desire to win
her to his side. "Don't say that, mother," he implored, "I love--"

But she was not so easily to be placated. She had an argument to use,
which, in her wrath, she fancied might be an effective one--and this
showed that the poor lady did not even know her son.

"Your father left me all his money," she said viciously. "If you are
fool enough to marry this girl, you shall have nothing--nothing!"

It did not seem to have, on the young man, the instantaneous effect
which she had thought it would have. He merely looked at her with a
grieved little frown, and, bending towards her, said with earnest
emphasis: "_That_ wouldn't make the slightest difference. I'm young
and strong. We'll get along somehow--and we shall be together."