looked at Josephine and her father. She had pushed the cap from
the giant's head and had taken his bearded face between her two
hands, and John Adare was smiling down into her white, pleading
face with the gentleness and worship of a woman. In a moment he
broke forth into a great rumbling laugh, and looked over her head
at Philip.

"God bless my soul, if I don't almost believe my little girl
thought I was coming home to murder her!" he cried. "I guess she
thought I'd hate you for stealing her away from me the way you
did. I have contemplated disliking you, quite seriously, too. But
you're not the sort of looking chap I thought you'd be with that
oily French name. You've shown good judgment. There isn't a man in
the world good enough for my Jo. And if you'll excuse my
frankness, I like your looks!"

As he spoke he held out a hand, and Josephine eagerly faced
Philip. A flush grew in her cheeks as the two men shook hands. Her
eyes were on Philip, and her heart beat a little quicker. She had
not hoped that he would rise to the situation so completely. She
had feared that there would be some betrayal in voice or action.
But he was completely master of himself, and the colour in her
face deepened beautifully. Before this moment she had not wholly
perceived how splendidly clear and fearless were his eyes. His
long blond hair, touched with its premature gray, was still
windblown from his rush out into the night, giving to his head a
touch of leonine strength as he faced her father.

Quietly she slipped aside and looked at them, and neither saw the
strange, proud glow that came like a flash of fire into her eyes.