she now learned for the
first time he had marred.

Mr. Menemon meanwhile was still in pursuit of the plea; but nothing of
any cogency presented itself. In truth he had builded better than he
knew. Anger burns itself out; already its force was spent, and the
revelation he had made had affected his daughter like a douche. In his
ignorance, however, the safest and surest course that occurred to him
was to hold his tongue, send for Usselex, and leave him to settle the
matter as best he might. This course he was about to adopt, and he got
out some paper preparatory to wording the message when a servant
appeared with a card on a tray.

He picked it up, glanced at it, and then over at his daughter. She was
still leaning against the book-case, her back was turned, and her face
hidden in her arms. It seemed probable to him that she was unaware of
the servant's presence.

"Very good," he murmured, and motioned the man away. Again he glanced at
his daughter, but she had not moved, and noiselessly, that he might not
disturb her, he left the room.

Eden indeed had heard nothing. The revelation had been benumbing in its
unexpectedness, and as she leaned against the book-case, an immense pity
enveloped her, and she forgot her sorrow and herself. Her own distress
was trivial perhaps in comparison to what her mother had suffered, and
yet surely her father had repented. As she entered the house had she not
told herself that for twenty years he had been faithful to a memory. So
far back as she could remember, she had seen him compassionate of
others, striving, it may be, through the exercise of indulgence to earn
some little of it for himself. And should she refuse it now? He had
grieved; the stamp of it was on his face. She needed no one to remind
her of that, and that grief perhaps had effaced the fault. And if his
fault was effaceable, might not her husband's be effaceable as well? If
he would but come to her and let her feel that this misstep was one that
he regretted, she might yet forgive. It was as good to forgive as it was
to forget; and how beautiful the future still might be!

The indignation which had glowed so fiercely subsided; one by one the
sparks turned grey; the last one wavered a little and then disappeared.
She turned, her sultry eyes still wet, to where her father had sat. And
as she turned Mr. Menemon reentered the room. She made no effort to
account for his absence; she was all in all in her present idea, and