In such words did Professor Moorsom give his "young friend" to
understand the state of his feelings toward the lost man. It was
evident that the father of Miss Moorsom wished him to remain lost.
Perhaps the unprecedented heat of the season made him long for the
cool spaces of the Pacific, the sweep of the ocean's free wind
along the promenade decks, cumbered with long chairs, of a ship
steaming towards the Californian coast. To Renouard the
philosopher appeared simply the most treacherous of fathers. He
was amazed. But he was not at the end of his discoveries.

"He may be dead," the professor murmured.

"Why? People don't die here sooner than in Europe. If he had gone
to hide in Italy, for instance, you wouldn't think of saying that."

"Well! And suppose he has become morally disintegrated. You know
he was not a strong personality," the professor suggested moodily.
"My daughter's future is in question here."

Renouard thought that the love of such a woman was enough to pull
any broken man together--to drag a man out of his grave. And he
thought this with inward despair, which kept him silent as much
almost as his astonishment. At last he managed to stammer out a
generous -

"Oh! Don't let us even suppose. . ."

The professor struck in with a sadder accent than before -

"It's good to be young. And then you have been a man of action,