several
weeks.

"You are wise to make no excuses," he said coldly. "I could not
understand your sentiments. I have my own ideas of how a young man
should employ his time and carve out his existence. Your romantic ideas
are as unsympathetic to me as was this exhibition."

Mrs. Carew, who had never been so terrified in her life, thought she
should faint, but had presence of mind sufficient to realize that
unconsciousness would be prejudicial to her, and by bending over the
keys she kept her balance.

She murmured, "My dear, you are very hard on Antony."

Carew paid no attention to her. "Your career, sir, your manner of life,
are no affair of mine. I am concerned in you as you fetch your point of
view" (Carew was celebrated for his extempore speaking), "your customs
and your morals into my house."

"Believe me," said Mrs. Fairfax's son, in a choked voice, "I shall take
them out of it for ever."

Carew bowed. "You are at liberty to do so, Fairfax. You have not asked
my advice nor my opinions. You have ingratiated yourself with my
friends, to my regret and theirs."

Antony exclaimed violently, "Now, what do you mean by _that_, sir?"

"I am in no way obliged to explain myself to you, Fairfax."

"But you are!" fairly shouted the young man. "With whom have I
ingratiated myself to your regret?"

"I speak of Cedersholm, the sculptor."

"Well, what does _he_ say of me?" pursued the poor young man.

"It seems you have had the liberty of his workshop for months--"

"Yes,"--Antony calmed his voice by great effort,--"I have, and I have
slaved in it like a nigger--like a slave in the sugar-cane. What of
that?"

The fact of the matter was that Cedersholm in the Century Club had
spoken to Carew lightly of Fairfax, and slightingly. He had given the
young sculptor scant praise, and had wounded and cut Carew's pride in a
possession even so remote as an undesirable nephew by marriage. He could
not remember what Cedersholm had really said, but it had been
unfortunate.

"I don't know what Cedersholm has said to you," cried Antony Fairfax,
"nor do I care. He has sapped my life's blood. He has taken the talent
of me for three long months. He is keeping my drawings and my designs,
and, by God--"

"Stop!" said Mr. Carew, sharply. "How _dare_ you use such language in my
house, before my wife?"

Antony laughed shortly. He fixed his ardent blue eyes on the older man,
and as he did so the sense of his own youth came to him. He w