m.

"I'm urging no defence for the things that he did, the shady,
disreputable things. But he has come back now, I do verily believe,
ready, even eager, to turn over a new leaf. I----"

She interrupted him, smiling.

"Yes. That letter----"

"Oh, I know. But isn't it a very proof of what I say--would anyone but a
foolhardy boy have done such a thing? Sheer bravado, hoping behind it
all to be taken back to the fold--eager, at any rate, not to show a poor
spirit, cowardice."

"Over thirty now--old for a boy----"

"In years, yes. But younger, oh! ages younger than that in spirit, in
knowledge of the world, in everything that matters--I know," he went on
more slowly, smiling a little, "that you've called me sentimentalist
times without number--but really here I'm not urging you to anything
from sentimental reasons. I'm not asking you to take him back and kill
the fatted calf for him.

"I'm asking nothing absurd--only that you, his relations, all that he
has of kith and kin, should not be his enemies, should not drive him to
desperation--and worse."

"If you imagine," she said steadily, "that his fate is of the smallest
concern to me you know me very little. I care nothing of what becomes of
him. He and I have been enemies for many years now and a few words from
you cannot change that."

"I'm only asking you," he replied, "to give him a chance. See what you
can make of him, instead of sending him into the other camp--use him
even if you cannot care for him. There's fine stuff there in spite of
his follies. The day might come, even now, when you will own yourself
proud of him----"

But she had caught him up, leaning forward a little, her voice now of a
sharper turn. "The other camp? What other camp?"

He caught the note of danger. "I only mean," he said, choosing now his
words with the greatest care, "that if you turn Frank definitely, once
and for all, from your doors, there may be others ready to receive
him----"

"His men and his women," she broke in scornfully; "don't I know them?
I've not lived these years without knowing the raffish tenth-rate lot
that failures like Frank Breton affect----"

"No--there are others," Christopher said firmly, "Mrs. Bronson, for
instance----"

At that name she broke in.

"Yes--exactly. Mrs. Bronson. Oh! I know the kind of crowd that Mrs.
Bronson and her like can gather. They are welcome to Francis and he to
them."--She paused. He saw that she was controlling herself with