then he had
utterly collapsed, died in three days from what had first appeared a
slight cold; and, throughout his maturity, he had been a man of feverish
mind. His disastrous, blind struggle against the great, newly discovered
iron deposits of the Middle West was characteristic of his ill balance.
And, in his own, Howat Penny's, successive turn, the latter told himself
again, he had paid part of the price of his grandfather's indulgence.

It was incorporated in the Penny knowledge that Susan Brundon had
refused to marry Jasper while the other woman was alive. The latter had
died, some years after the disgraceful publicity of the murder and
trial; the wedding had then taken place; but it seemed to Howat Penny to
have been almost perfunctory. Yes, he had paid too, in the negative
philosophy, the critical sterility, of his existence. He recognized this
in one of the disconcerting flashes of perception that lately
illuminated him as if from without. Some essential proportion had been
disturbed. He looked up, at a slight sound, and saw Mariana standing
before him. His expression, he knew, was severe; he had been quite
upset.

"I can see," she proceeded slowly, "that I have been very wicked. I
didn't realize, Howat, that it might affect you; how real all that old
stir might be. I am tremendously sorry; you must know that I am awfully
fond of you. It was pure, young selfishness. I was afraid that if I
spoke first you wouldn't let him come. And it was important--I must see
him and talk to him and think about it. You can realize mother and
Kingsfrere!"

"Where did you meet him?" he demanded shortly.

"With Eliza, at a meeting," she went on more rapidly. "He's terribly
brilliant, and a steel man. Isn't it funny? The Pennys were steel, too;
or iron, and that's the same. I wish you could be nice to him or just
decent, until--until I know."

"Mariana!" he exclaimed, rising. "You don't mean that you are really--.
That you--"

"Perhaps, Howat," she answered gravely. "I have only seen him twice; and
he has said nothing; but, you see, I am an experienced young woman. No
other man has made the same impression."

"That," he declared coldly, "is unthinkable. You can't know all the
facts."

"I do; but, somehow, I don't care."

"Everything about him is impossible--his history, family ... Why, Eunice
Scofield, well, Penny, married a man from behind a counter, a fellow who
sold womens' gloves; yes, and more than half Jew. And this