other. Under these circumstances, and taking everything else into
consideration, I am convinced also that you will give weight to my
advice. I assure you that I do not offer it lightly. It is that you
should marry your cousin Mary."

"There is her side of the case to be considered," suggested Morris.

"Doubtless, and she is a very shrewd and sensible young woman under all
her 'dolce far niente' air, who is quite capable of consideration."

"I am not worthy of her," his son broke in passionately.

"That is for her to decide. I ask you to give her an opportunity of
expressing an opinion."

Morris looked at the sea and sky, then he looked at his father standing
before him in an attitude that was almost suppliant, with head bowed,
hands clasped, and on his clear-cut face an air of real sincerity. What
right had he to resist this appeal? He was heart-whole, without any
kind of complication, and for his cousin Mary he had true affection and
respect. Moreover, they had been brought up together. She understood
him, and in the midst of so much that was uncertain and bewildering
she seemed something genuine and solid, something to which a man could
cling. It may not have been a right spirit in which to approach this
question of marriage, but in the case of a young man like Morris,
who was driven forward by no passion, by no scheme even of personal
advancement, this substitution of reason for impulse and instinct was
perhaps natural.

"Very well, I will," he answered; "but if she is wise, she won't."