This Side of Glory by Gwen Bristow

night,” said Fred. “That report to the levee board.”
    “I suppose you want it typed? Show me where it is and I’ll start after breakfast.”
    Eleanor had evidently not slept much herself. She was heavy-lidded, and sat playing with her bacon abstractedly and drinking a great deal of coffee. Fred was wondering how to speak to her. Whatever he said would be wrong. When a man had spent his life in levee camps he hadn’t had time to learn diplomatic phrases. He was still wondering when Randa came in and gave Eleanor a box of red camellias.
    She sprang up to receive it. As she read the card that lay among the flowers, a dreamy glow flickered over her face. She looked up. “Is the boy waiting, Randa?”
    “Yassum.” Randa grinned knowingly.
    “Give him coffee in the kitchen while I write a note.”
    As Randa departed Eleanor went to the desk. Fred got up from his chair.
    “Who’re the flowers from?” he asked, though he knew already.
    “Kester.” She was writing.
    “Wait a minute before you answer,” said Fred.
    Eleanor halted her scribbling pen. As though seeing his face for the first time that day, she started. “What’s the matter, dad?”
    He crossed the tent and stood before her. “Eleanor, you’re in love with that man, aren’t you?”
    She nodded, smiling to herself. “How did you know?”
    “I was still up when you came in last night,” he said abruptly. “I saw you kiss him.”
    He had expected her to make an indignant retort. But at once he realized that he had underestimated her. Eleanor had never kept any secrets from him, nor did she now. She only said, her eyes on the camellias, “I’d have told you very soon. I’m going to marry him.”
    “No you’re not,” said Fred.
    Eleanor stared at him. Her blue eyes stretched wide. In a thin, amazed voice she gasped, “Why—dad!”
    Fred stood with his hands in his pants pockets. He did so hate to hurt her. Feeling very awkward, he fumbled with his matter-of-fact vocabulary.
    “I don’t reckon I’m very smart about some things, Nellie,” he said gently. “If I was I could tell you better. But that fellow’s not good enough for a girl like you.”
    “Yes he is.” Smiling tolerantly, Eleanor stood up and put her hands on his shoulders. “Between you and me, dad, I think the same thing you do about his family. But they aren’t Kester.”
    Fred sighed and started over. “Nellie, listen to me.”
    She was still smiling, as though he were trying to deny that the world was round. “Stop calling me Nellie. I’m not going to listen.” She sat down again and was about to take up her pen.
    “Yes you are,” said Fred. He spoke with a tender vehemence. “Eleanor, I reckon this is about the hardest thing I ever tried to say. I guess you really are in love with him, and you’re mighty happy about it right now, but if you marry Kester Larne you’re not going to be happy long.”
    “Why not?” she asked as if hardly hearing him.
    “He’s just no good,” said Fred.
    Eleanor picked up a match and began breaking it into small pieces. “He told me he hadn’t been an angel, if that’s what you mean.”
    “Honey child,” said Fred earnestly, “I’m not talking about anything he’s done. I’m talking about the kind of person he is.”
    Eleanor was beginning to be angry. “So you think I’ll have to wander around wearing a brave smile above a broken heart! But I won’t.”
    “I want you to get more out of life,” said Fred, “than just not having your heart broken.” He repeated, “That fellow is just no good.”
    Eleanor’s eyes had narrowed dangerously as he spoke. They looked like lines of blue fire. “You’d better be careful, dad,” she said in a low voice.
    “Why should I be careful? I’m saying what I know is true. And you’re going to sit there and hear me.” Fred caught his voice and went on as gently as he could. “Eleanor, honey, Kester don’t know what it means to be a man grown up. He’s a child in a