Condolences, under the
circumstances, were utterly out of the question.

"How do you propose to support her?" the banker demanded.

"She is of age, and independent of you. You will pardon me if I reply
that this is a matter between ourselves," Holder said.

"I had made up my mind that the day she married you I would not only
disinherit her, but refuse absolutely, to have anything to do with her."

"If you cannot perceive what she perceives, that you have already by
your own life cut her off from you absolutely and that seeing her will
not mend matters while you remain relentless, nothing I can say will
convince you." Holder did not speak rebukingly. The utter uselessness
of it was never more apparent. The man was condemned beyond all present
reprieve, at least.

"She left me," exclaimed Eldon Parr, bitterly.

"She left you, to save herself."

"We need not discuss that."

"I am far from wishing to discuss it," Holder replied.

"I do not know why you have asked me to come here, Mr. Parr. It is clear
that your attitude has not changed since our last conversation. I tried
to make it plain to you why the church could not accept your money. Your
own daughter, cannot accept it."

"There was a time," retorted the banker, "when you did not refuse to
accept it."

"Yes," Holder replied, "that is true." It came to him vividly then that
it had been Alison herself who had cast the enlightening gleam which
revealed his inconsistency. But he did not defend himself.

"I can see nothing in all this, Mr. Hodder, but a species of insanity,"
said Eldon Parr, and there crept into his tone both querulousness and
intense exasperation. "In the first place, you insist upon marrying my
daughter when neither she nor you have any dependable means of support.
She never spared her criticisms of me, and you presume to condemn me,
a man who, if he has neglected his children, has done so because he has
spent too much of his time in serving his community and his country, and
who has--if I have to say it myself--built up the prosperity which you
and others are doing your best to tear down, and which can only result
in the spread of misery. You profess to have a sympathy with the masses,
but you do not know them as I do. They cannot control themselves, they
require a strong hand. But I am not asking for your sympathy. I have
been misunderstood all my life, I have become used to ingratitude, even
from my children, and from the rector of the c