"If I were a man," she said, "you should die for that!"

"It was an opportunity not to be ignored," returned Courtlandt. "It is
true that I was a fool to run away as I did, but my return has convinced
me that I should have been as much a fool had I remained to tag you about,
begging for an interview. I wrote you letters. You returned them unopened.
You have condemned me without a hearing. So be it. You may consider that
kiss the farewell appearance so dear to the operatic heart," bitterly.

He addressed most of this to the back of her head, for she was already
walking toward the villa into which she disappeared with the proud air of
some queen of tragedy. She was a capital actress.

A heavy hand fell upon Courtlandt's shoulder. He was irresistibly drawn
right about face.

"Now, then, Mr. Courtlandt," said Harrigan, his eyes blue and cold as ice,
"perhaps you will explain?"

With rage and despair in his heart, Courtlandt flung off the hand and
answered: "I refuse!"

"Ah!" Harrigan stood off a few steps and ran his glance critically up and
down this man of whom he had thought to make a friend. "You're a husky
lad. There's one way out of this for you."

"So long as it does not necessitate any explanations," indifferently.

"In the bottom of one of Nora's trunks is a set of my old gloves. There
will not be any one up at the tennis-court this time of day. If you are
not a mean cuss, if you are not an ordinary low-down imitation of a man,
you'll meet me up there inside of five minutes. If you can stand up in
front of me for ten minutes, you need not make any explanations. On the
other hand, you'll hike out of here as fast as boats and trains can take
you. And never come back."

"I am nearly twenty years younger than you, Mr. Harrigan."

"Oh, don't let that worry you any," with a truculent laugh.

"Very well. You will find me there. After all, you are her father."

"You bet I am!"

Harrigan stole into his daughter's room and soundlessly bored into the
bottom of the trunk that contained the relics of past glory. As he pulled
them forth, a folded oblong strip of parchment came out with them and
fluttered to the floor; but he was too busily engaged to notice it, nor
would he have bothered if he had. The bottom of the trunk was littered
with old letters and programs and operatic scores. He wrapped the gloves
in a newspaper and got away without being seen. He was as happy as a boy
who had discovered an opening in the