he came back to the sitting-room
door.

"If it should be like--like Jack Berrington," she said, from the
threshold, with a kind of concentrated quiet in her manner, "then--what
you suggested--would be more out of the question than ever."

"I don't see that," he returned, adopting her own tone. "I should think
it would be just the other way."

She shook her head.

"There are a lot of points of view that you haven't seen yet," he
persisted. "I could put some of them before you if you'd give me time."

"It would be no use doing that. I should never believe anything but that
we, my father and I, should bear the responsibilities of our own acts."

"You'll think differently," he began, "when you've looked at the thing
all round; and then--"

But before he could complete his sentence she had gone.

* * * * *

Having seen her go up-stairs, he waited in some uncertainty. When
fifteen or twenty minutes had gone by and she did not return, he decided
to wait no longer. Picking up his hat and stick from the chair on which
he had laid them, he went out by the French window, making his way to
the gate across the lawn.

VIII

Finding the door of her father's room ajar, Miss Guion pushed it open
and went in.

Wearing a richly quilted dressing-gown, with cuffs and rolled collar of
lavender silk, he lay asleep in the chaise-longue, a tan-colored rug
across his feet. On a table at his left stood a silver box containing
cigars, a silver ash-tray, a silver match-box, and a small silver lamp
burning with a tiny flame. Each piece was engraved with his initials and
a coat-of-arms. On his right there was an adjustable reading-stand,
holding an open copy of a recent English review. One hand, adorned with
an elaborately emblazoned seal-ring, hung heavily toward the floor; a
cigar that had gone out was still between the fingers. His head, resting
on a cushion of violet brocade, had fallen slightly to one side.

She sat down beside him, to wait till he woke up. It was a large room,
with white doors and wainscoting. Above the woodwork it was papered in
pale yellow. On the walls there were water-colors, prints, photographs,
and painted porcelain plaques. Over the bed, for decorative rather than
devotional purposes, hung an old French ivory crucifix, while lower
down was a silver holy-water stoup of Venetian make, that was oftenest
used for matches. It had been the late Mrs. Guion's room, and expre