Of affection for his children he had little. Bailey was useful in the
office, and Ruth ornamental at home. They satisfied him. He had never
troubled to study their characters. It had never occurred to him to
wonder if they were fond of him. They formed a necessary part of his
household, and beyond that he was not interested in them. If he had
ever thought about Ruth's nature, he had dismissed her as a feminine
counterpart of Bailey, than whom no other son and heir in New York
behaved so exactly as a son and heir should.

That Ruth, even under the influence of Lora Delane Porter, should have
been capable of her present insubordination, was surprising, but the
thing was too trivial to be a source of anxiety. The mischief could be
checked at once before it amounted to anything.

Bailey had not been gone too long before Ruth appeared. She stood in
the doorway looking at him for a moment. Her face was pale and her eyes
bright. She was breathing quickly.

"Are you busy, father? I--I want to tell you something."

John Bannister smiled. He had a wintry smile, a sort of muscular
affection of the mouth, to which his eyes contributed nothing. He had
made up his mind to be perfectly calm and pleasant with Ruth. He had
read in novels and seen on the stage situations of this kind, where the
father had stormed and blustered. The foolishness of such a policy
amused him. A strong man had no need to behave like that.

"I think I have heard it already," he said. "I have just been seeing
Bailey."