secret weeping, and at last Tom Burton straightened his hunched
shoulders and gazed across at young Edwardes, whose eyes were no longer
smiling, but very sober.

"I hope you're satisfied now," said the host bitterly. "You've played
merry hell with this family. Yesterday my son did my bidding without
question. My daughter was an obedient child an' a natural one without
foolishness. You've been under my roof three hours an' my house rises
rebellious against me in my old age. And you bear a name that's always
stood for order an' wisdom--not for stirrin' up trouble. I reckon I
ought to turn you out in the snow, but I won't--I only hope you're
satisfied."

"Mr. Burton," answered the young millionaire quietly, "I should be
sorry to have you think that. If I have kindled a spark in little Mary
that you never saw before it is nothing of which either you or she need
feel ashamed. As for the boy, it was not I who incited him. He has been
suppressing thoughts until now that reached the point of eruption,
that's all." He paused, then added very thoughtfully: "Even if I did
influence them both, it was as the unconscious tool upon which the hand
of Destiny chanced to fall. The boy only seeks fulfilment; fulfilment
that will make life better for all of you--if he succeeds."

"Yes--if he succeeds. All he's got to do is to start out empty-handed
and lick the world to a frazzle. All I've got to do is to gamble the
little savings of twenty-five years of frugal living on his being able
to do it."

"That," said Edwardes, "was hardly what I meant. If you'll let me make
one suggestion, since you credit me with already having done so much, it