earned as much as he."

"That's true. All quite true."

"Then something happened!" Truedale flung his half-smoked cigar in the
fire. "What was it, Lynda?"

"There--was nothing--really--"

"There was something. There was--Con!"

"Oh! how--how can you?" Lynda started back. She meant to say "How dare
you?"--but the drawn and tortured face restrained her.

"Because I must, Lynda. Because I must. You know I told you I had a
story? You must bear with me and listen. Sit down again and try to
remember--I am doing this for your mother! I repeat--there was Con. At
first you took up arms for him as Brace did; your sex instincts were not
awakened. You were all good fellows together until you drifted,
blindfolded, into the trap poor Morrell set for you. You thought I was
ill-treating Con--disregarding his best interests--starving his soul!
Oh! you poor little ignoramus; the boy never had a soul worth mentioning
until it got awakened, in self-defense, and grew its own limit. What did
you and Brace know of the past--the past that went into Con's making?
You were free enough with your young condemnation and misplaced
loyalty--but how about justice?"

Lynda's eyes were fixed upon Truedale's face. She had never seen him in
this mood and, while he fascinated, he overawed her.