d still for so long that
Lewis looked up.

"Well, Dad, what Is it?" he asked, still smiling. "Have you heard of
her?"

"Yes," said Leighton, quietly, "I've heard of her. I've even seen her.
She's a beautiful--she has a beautiful body. Tell me just how it
happened."

Then Lewis talked, and Leighton appeared to listen. He knew all the
stages of that _via dolorosa_ too well to have to pay close attention to
Lewis's description, of the first emotional step of man toward man's
surest tribulation.

There was no outburst from Leighton when Lewis finished. On the
contrary, he made an effort to hide his thoughts, and succeeded so well
that, had it not been for a touch of bitterness in his smile, Lewis
might have been led to think that with this active calm his father would
have received the announcement of his son's choice of any woman.

"Dad," said Lewis, troubled, "why do you smile like that?"

"I am smiling," said Leighton, "at the tragedy of philanthropy. Any man
can get; it takes a genius to give. There are things I've got that I'd
like to give you now--on the eve of your greatest trouble." Lewis threw
up his head in amazement. He would have protested but, with a
half-raised hand, Leighton stilled him. "No," he went on, "I don't
expect you to acquire prescience all in a moment, nor do I expect myself
to acquire the genius of giving to a sudden need in half an hour. Let's
let things stand this way. You love Folly Delaires; I don't. I don't
want to be converted, and you don't. But one of us has simply got to be,
because--well--because I like to think we've lived too long together in
spirit to take to two sides of a fence now."

Lewis felt a sudden depression fall on him, all the more terible for the
exaltation that had preceded it.

"Two sides of a fence, Dad?" he said. "That can never be. I--I've just
got to convert you. When you know her, she'll help me."

The two rose to their feet on a common impulse. Leighton laid his hand
on Lewis's shoulder.

"Boy," he said, "forgive me for making your very words my own. I have no
illusions as to the power of woman. She is at once the supreme source of
happiness and of poignant suffering. You think your woman will help you;
I think she'll help me. That neutralizes her a bit, doesn't it? It
reduces our battle to the terms of single combat--unless one of us is
right about Folly."

"But, Dad," stammered Lewis, "I don't _want_ a battle."

Leighton pressed his hand down. Unc