his mind but little in regard to his son. When he heard Graydon's
voice in the outer room, his face brightened and he took several
quick steps toward the door. He checked himself suddenly with the
remembrance that his son had turned against him the night before,
and his face hardened.

Graydon found him standing stern and unfriendly before the steam
radiator in the darkest corner of the room, his hands behind his
back. The young man plumped down heavily in his father's desk chair.

"Why didn't you come home last night?" demanded the other.

"I hated the thought of it," he answered dejectedly.

"You've listened to their side of the story. You're a splendid son,
you are!" sneered the father.

"There is nothing base and unprincipled in their side of the story.
They have tried to shield her; they have never harmed her. But you!
Why, father, you've blighted her life forever. They were going to
tell her in a day or so, and they could have made it easy for her.
Not like this! Why, in Heaven's name, did you strike her like that?
She's--she's the talk of the town. She's ostracised, that's what
she is, and she's the best girl that ever lived."

"Oh, you think they would have told her, eh? No! They would have
let her marry---"

"Well, and what was your position? Why were you so considerate up
to last night? If you knew, why did you let me go on so blindly?