sumed: "You'll hear all
about it later. Is the chief at home?"

Grace nodded. They had seldom called Osborn father, but chief and head of
the clan, and she thought it significant that Gerald used the name he
often falteringly employed after boyish escapades. She began to feel that
there was something wrong.

"He's in the library," she said.

"That's satisfactory, as far as it goes," Gerald remarked, climbing the
steps. "The sooner I see him, the sooner I'll get through the thing." He
paused and gave Grace an anxious glance. "You'll stand by me? You
generally did."

"I suppose so," Grace agreed. "But I don't know your difficulties and
what you want."

"You will know soon," Gerald rejoined and shrugged his shoulders. "Well,
it's an awkward business; I've got to brace up."

He left her and went to the library, where Osborn sat at the big oak
table with some letters and a wine glass in front of him. The spacious
room was mostly in shadow, but a ray of fading light shone in through the
tall west window. Gerald avoided the illumination as he advanced, and
stopped in the gloom opposite Osborn, who straightened his body with a
jerk and upset the glass.

"Well?" he said harshly. "Why have you left the bank?"

"The wine is running across the table and on to your clothes.
Shall I ring?"

"No," said Osborn, pushing his chair back noisily. "Let it run! Stand
still or sit down. Tell me why you came."

"To begin with, I have left the bank for good."

"Ah," said Osborn grimly, "I suspected something like this! You mean they
turned you out? Well, you are consistent in your habits. You left school
in similar circumstances, you left Woolwich, and now--"

"I was not turned out, sir. They gave me a week's leave, but I
can't go back."

Osborn frowned. Things had been going well and he had thought himself
free from trouble for a time, but it looked as if he would get his worst
jar. He tried to preserve his calm and said with a touch of weariness:

"Tell me what has happened and keep as near the truth as is
possible for you."

Gerald told him, standing back in the shadow and not pausing to choose
his words. It was an ugly story that could not be toned down and he knew
if he stopped he could not go on again. Although Osborn said nothing, his
face got red and the veins on his forehead swelled, and Gerald found his
silence strangely daunting. When the latter stopped, Osborn got up and
stood, rather shakily, with his hand clenc