"No," said Graydon, averting his eyes to avoid her expression; "she
is his wife."

Droom waited until the party was out of the restaurant before
uttering a word.

"Inside of two years I have pointed out two fathers to their
children--yours and his, Jane. Your mothers are dead. There isn't
much choice as to fathers. If I were you, I'd say I had the better
of the bargain. Take an old man's advice, both of you, and let
bygones be bygones. Start life now, just as if nothing had happened
before, and get every atom of happiness out of it that you can.
Don't you two pay for the sins of your fathers."

"I couldn't live in New York if he were living here," murmured
Jane.

"Hey, waiter, your bill," said Droom, with sudden harshness.

It was snowing and the wind was blowing a gale when they emerged
from the place. Jane hung heavily upon Graydon's arm; he could
feel that she was sobbing. He did not dare to look into her face,
but he felt something cruelly triumphant surging in his heart. Elias
Droom waited until their cab came up. Then he offered his hand to
both, hesitatingly, even timidly.

"Good-night. Be happy. There is nothing else left for you but that.
Graydon, when you jrrite to your father, give him my love."